


Red Winter

by Anonymous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Dark Katsuki Yuuri, Lady MacBeth-ish Yuuri without the remorse, M/M, Politics, Russian Revolution of 1905, Russian Revolution of 1917, Slow Burn, The one where they marry fuck and have babies before they fall in love, World War I, russian civil war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 155,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25712032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: 1905. The end of the Russo-Japanese War brings a stalemate and a treaty, one that gives Prince Yuuri as a bride to the Grand Duke of Imperial Russia.Relocated to Russia, a bitterly cold, decadent palace, Yuuri struggles in a foreign court. Silently vowing to seize control of the Russian throne, he finds himself slowly falling for the handsome Grand Duke and the inhabitants of his new home.But in the backdrop of Imperial Russia lies the hunger for change and the seeds of a revolution.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 261
Kudos: 507
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glitterpile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterpile/gifts).



> You may be wondering why I’m writing this. Two reasons. 
> 
> One, I have no self control. 
> 
> Two, originally, this was going to be a barbarian AU with Yuuri being taken as a war prize with fun dub con elements, but then. . . It has evolved into this. *shrugs* Such is life.
> 
> Finally, MANY THANKS TO GLITTERPILE FOR BETA-ING FIRST CHAPTER (AND HOPEFULLY MORE). I would have butchered everything if it wasn't for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dramatis personae, the roll call of characters, will be updated as I write this. It's a nice cheat sheet, because there are a lot of people.

**dramatis personae**

Yuri Alekseevich (née Yuuri of Japan) 

Phichit Chulanont, personal assistant for Prince Yuuri

Hisashi Morooka, bodyguard for Prince Yuuri

Takeshi Nishigori, bodyguard for Prince Yuuri

Yuuko Nishigori, personal servant for Prince Yuuri

Guang Hong, personal servant for Prince Yuuri 

**At the Imperial Court of Japan**

The Emperor 

The Empress (née Amaya Katsuki)

Minako, Lieutenant General of the Imperial Army

Mari, Princess of Japan

Toshiya, Crown Prince of Japan

Hiroko, Princess of Japan

Kenjirou, Prince of Japan

**At Kiev**

Mila Babicheva, a peasant girl 

Georgi Popovich, a schoolteacher 

Leo de la Iglesia, a doctor 

Volodymyr Naumenko, a member of the Prosvita

Borys Yanukovych, a member of the Prosvita

Igor Smirnov, the captain of Ekaterina's guards

Ren Tanaka, bodyguard

Akuseru Nishigori, daughter of Yuuko and Takeshi Nishigori

Ruttsu Nishigori, daughter of Yuuko and Takeshi Nishigori

Rupu Nishigori, daughter of Yuuko and Takeshi Nishigori

Yuri Plisetsky, the nanny

Yelena Lebedyova, a noblewoman 

Lilia Baranovskaya, governess

Maria Mikhailovna, a peasant

Irina, a farm owner

Boris, Viktor's assistant 

Ichika, a member of Yuuri's guards

Ilya Fedoseyev, a lawyer

Saito, a member of Yuuri's guards

**At St. Petersburg, Russia**

Sergei Witte, Russian Prime Minister (1905-1906)

Pyotr Kaufman, Minister of Education (1906-1908)

Grigori Rasputin, the holy man

Yakov Feltsman, a member of the Imperial Duma and Octobrist 

Nikolai Plisetsky, a prominent Constitutional Democrat 

Lev Kasso, Minister of Education (1910-1914)

**At the Imperial Court of Russia**

Nikolai Alexandrovich, Tsar 

Alexandra Feodorovna (née Alix of Hesse), Tsarina 

Olga Nikolaevna, Grand Duchess

Tatiana Nikolaevna, Grand Duchess

Maria Nikolaevna, Grand Duchess

Anastasia Nikolaevna, Grand Duchess

Alexei Nikolaevich, Tsesarevich

Maria Feodorovna (née Dagmar of Denmark), the dowager empress

Viktor Alexandrovich, Grand Duke 

Olga Alexandrovna, Grand Duchess

Dimitri Pavlovich, Grand Duke

Nikolai Nikolaevich, Grand Duke and General

Boris Vladimirovich, Grand Duke

Maria Pavlovna, Grand Duchess

Ekaterina Viktorovna, Grand Duchess

Artyom Viktorovich, Grand Duke

Anton Viktorovich, Grand Duke

**The Foreigners**

François Couture, the French tutor

Aiko Nakamura, a Japanese diplomat to Russia

Celestino Cialdini, an American diplomat to Japan

Sara, Princess of Savoy

Christophe Giacometti, a Swiss doctor

Colonel Aiso, a Japanese officer

Matthieu Giacometti, a Swiss doctor

* * *

**_Red Winter: Part 1 (1905-1907)_ **

_The First Revolution_

* * *

**The Sun (1833-1950)**

**New York, Tuesday, August 9, 1904.**

**DROVE JAPS OFF.**

**Russians Sink a Cruiser and Disable Another.**

**FIGHT OFF PORT ARTHUR.**

**Admiral Alexieff Reports a Successful Sortie by Russians.**

> Says the Russian Fleet Sank the Armored Cruiser Cheyeda and Injured the Itsukushima on July 26—Russians Lost a Mine Dredger by a Mine—Japanese Lost Heavily in Taking Wolf Hill—Near Enough to Port Arthur Garrison to Hear Russians Talk—Ammunition in the Russian Garrison Said to Be Getting Low—Bands Play Daily to Keep Up the Spirits of the Defenders.
> 
> ST. PETERSBURG, Aug. 8.—A despatch from Admiral Alexieff, dated Mukden, Aug. 7, says:
> 
> ‘Telegrams received to-day from Port Arthur state that the cruisers Bayan, Askold, Pallada, and Novik and some gunboats steamed from the harbor on July 26 for the purpose of bombarding the enemy’s positions. They were attacked by the battleship Chin Yen, the armored cruiser Cheyeda, the protected cruisers Itsukushima and Mataushima, two second class cruisers and thirty torpedo boats. 
> 
> “An 8-inch shell from the Bayan burst in the stern of the Itsukushima, placing her out of action. . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Drove Japs Off.” The Sun, 9 Aug. 1904, www.loc.gov/resource/sn83030272/1904-08-09/ed-1/?sp=1.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this fic, Viktor is replacing the Tsar's younger brother, Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich, who was 27 in 1905. Originally, I thought maybe it should be the Tsar's son or something, but the math doesn't work out.

Water, when gently cupped by the palms, remains in hands until forcibly gripped, dripping down the wrists and arms; such is the delicate nature of power. 

Yuuri, a prince of Japan, has spent a month living in the Alexander Palace, located in St. Petersburg, Russia. It's a grand place with more rooms than the young prince could possibly count. It is as if some former emperor or empress noticed that their coffers were too full and heavy with gold and thought to splash it upon the walls, the chandeliers, the curtains, and everything else they could think of and see. There is not a single spot in the palace not layered with lavish decadence and glimmering colors. 

Despite the wealth surrounding him, Yuuri is deeply reminded of home, of Japan, of the place he willingly left. He misses its simplicity, its milder weather, and even the soft tones of his own language. Though he may have not always lived in the Imperial Palace, it is home to him and there is no place better than that. 

Now Yuuri lives in a palace thousands of miles away from home. Unless his future husband is willing, he will never see Japan again in his life. 

As stated in the treaty ending the Russo-Japanese War, Yuuri is a guest living in the splendid opulent palace that also houses the Russian royal family. He lives under their watchful eyes for two reasons: one, to fulfill the terms of the treaty and two, to ensure that he is not pregnant by briefly overseeing his heat. 

The second has been overseen by the Tsarina and her ladies for an hour. They exchanged polite words in English, faces etched in marked pleasantries and equal measurements of politeness. Then in Russian, the Tsarina, who was formerly Alix of Hesse, casually remarks to her ladies the unattractiveness and loose clothing the Japanese prince wore in the throes of his heat. She evidently did not like the loose nature of the silk yukata he wore. 

Yuuri never told any Russians that he perfectly understood their language. Here in Russia, he always has his assistant, Phichit Chulanont, translate Russian into Japanese. He's comfortable with this makeshift barrier that prevents people from communicating with him. 

Now he sits in the library, reading a book in English and ignoring the whispers of the Tsar's servants who believed they are quieter than they actually are. Yuuri has been here for two weeks, and the servants have taken to gossiping about him and his future husband, Grand Duke Viktor Alexandrovich. The young omega is not fond of gossip, but he finds it useful for it has granted him information that wasn’t readily available. 

From the scandalized words of the servants, the Grand Duke frequently enjoys the companionship of a young Swiss omega and wishes to marry him despite the left-handed marriage they would have. The Tsar, the Grand Duke's older brother, is evidently not pleased by these transgressions. "He spent so long ranting about the European, thought to strip Viktor Alexandrovich of his assets and land until the treaty came along," whispers one maid, eagerly delighting in the small nugget of information she knows. "I'm not certain how they will make the Japanese prince a proper bride. He's so Oriental." 

It's not that difficult to make Yuuri into a proper bride for a Grand Duke. Long hours of studying the Gospel is necessary for the prince to be converted into Russian Orthodox. He has abandoned most of his yukatas for Western-style clothing, slightly modeling after the Tsarina. Three changes of clothes per day, including an evening dress. 

As Yuuri skims over the words of one William Shakespeare, he can't help but think about his future husband. 

According to Morooka, the Tsar can't help but think about the marriage as well. The Japanese guard has taken to listening from the walls, reporting everything back to Yuuri. "He spoke to the Tsarina. She proposed that if the Grand Duke refused to marry you, then you shall be married to one of his cousins." 

The Tsarina, Yuuri has quickly realized, is fiercely protective of the throne. She wields influence over her husband in some decisions, and the only thing that she needs to do to cement her power is for Tsesarevich Alexei Nikolaevich to present as an alpha. 

Morooka continued in Japanese, "The Tsar, despite his dislike of Japan, resisted. He wanted his brother to stop his foolishness, and the best way to do that, he felt, was by ensuring he marries you.” 

From the way the Russian diplomats to Japan spoke, they were certain that the Grand Duke would be eager to marry the Japanese prince. But now, Yuuri knows the truth. The Grand Duke is actually vehemently against marrying Yuuri. 

It doesn't matter if this Russian duke doesn't want to marry him. He has plenty of cousins in line for the throne. 

* * *

_"My grandson," said the Emperor, a thin old man with weathered grey hair in a casual yukata. He sat in the tea room, staring at Yuuri standing at the other side of the room. "Do you know why you are here?"_

_"I have an inkling of an idea." Yuuri bent his knees, bowing briefly before taking a seat across from his grandfather._

_The Emperor continued staring, his dark eyes quietly examining the omega, as if searching for something. Then he spoke again. "Your handling of Mukden is brilliant. Ōyama was impressed. He approved of most of your strategies and took them into consideration."_

_Yuuri nodded, his head inclining._

_"You would have already heard we are in the process of writing a treaty with the Russians." The Emperor continued without waiting for an affirmative from the prince. "The Russians have proposed a condition in the treaty, a sign of partnership between Japan and Russia. A marriage. They have offered up Grand Duke Viktor, who is the younger brother of the Tsar. Our diplomats have suggested a match who is of equal standing to the Grand Duke."_

_Yuuri, not even reacting to the news, nodded again. He had already heard all of this, and he knew that he was the only option, the only one of equal standing to the Grand Duke. All the other options were too young or married. With sincerity, he said, "My suggestion is to have the diplomats agree to those terms."_

_Stunned, the Emperor turned to Okukawa Minako, the Lieutenant General of the Imperial Army sitting at his left, as if he expected a completely different answer from the prince. “Does he know what he is getting into?”_

_Dressed in a simple yukata, Minako smiled. The alpha folded her hands, threading her fingers on top of her lap. "I'm certain that Prince Yuuri already knows. He has, without a doubt, considered the options.”_

_The Emperor swiveled his head back to his grandson._

_If Yuuri was more like his sister, Princess Mari of Japan, perhaps he would have thoroughly explained his reasons to the Emperor. He didn’t know how to address the Emperor without freezing up, like water suffering under extreme temperatures. Yuuri, if he was overseeing the naval battlefields, would write a short simple note to the troops, no explanation needed. But to the Emperor himself. . ._

_Though the international press immensely enjoyed covering the Romanovs, the reigning royal family of Imperial Russia, they knew little about the family. Before Nikolai came to power, his grandfather ruled the throne. Viktor Alexandrovich was the second youngest child of his father and was more importantly, fourth in line to the throne. His grandfather was later assassinated, leaving him third in line. Then his brother Georgi Alexandrovich passed away in a motorcycle accident, leaving him second in line. When the Tsar died and Nikolai ascended, Viktor Alexandrovich was the heir. But with the birth of Alexei Nikolaevich, Viktor Alexandrovich became second in line once again._

_Yuuri did not know his grandfather as intimately as his peers. The Emperor, when he ascended to the throne, was fifty-eight years old. He was a busy man, always in meetings and greeting the diplomats, the perfect face to represent Japan. The prince knew he had no chance to the throne with the way the Japanese ascension laws were written. It was Yuuri's greatest sorrow four years ago when he presented as an omega. Only an alpha could inherit the throne, and after his father was his sister. After his sister was her son, Kenjirou, who was assumed to be a beta until proven otherwise._

_No, Yuuri had no place except as an adviser of sorts to his father and then to his sister._

_How could Yuuri voice his speculation that Alexei Nikolaevich, a young babe who was rumored to be sickly and frequently ill, was likely to find the same fate as the other Romanovs? How could he explain to the Emperor that Viktor Alexandrovich would likely be the next Tsar of All the Russias? No, it was better to remain silent._

_At the silence, Minako added, "I have faith in Prince Yuuri's judgement and would like to suggest that prior to his travels, we triple his guards and provide him an account of sums in the event of an emergency. Russia, according to our sources, is currently suffering through civil unrest."_

_The Emperor merely looked thoughtful. In a strict tone, he announced, "I will not be making any decisions today. Yuuri, you're dismissed."_

_The prince stood and bowed. He was delicate with his steps, trying not to hasten and appear as if he was eager to flee. The omega slid open the door and closed it. He gave a small nod to the Emperor's personal guards and walked through the waiting room. Once he determined that no one was watching him, he picked up his pace and broke into a run._

_When he was a young boy exploring the palace while running away from his English tutor, he discovered the little nook in the Empress' dressing room that provided a nice acoustic from the Emperor's reception room, where the Emperor met with advisers, spies, and military leaders alike. He suspected that the Empress used it before her hearing was lost. Nowadays, the Empress rarely used this room except as a storage room for her splendid collection of shoes._

_He managed to slip in and press his ear against the hole in the wall to listen._

_Minako and the Emperor were in the midst of a conversation, regarding the treaty._

_"No," the Emperor said. He must have been responding to something the Lieutenant General said. "A foreigner of all possible matches for Yuuri."_

_The alpha military officer pointed out, "This is the first time he has agreed to a marriage. I don't believe Viktor would be a bad match for him. He's a competent military commander."_

_"It's not that." The Emperor sighed, a breath released, as if undergoing the throes of harsh labor. "I'm not blind to that boy's ambitions."_

_Minako said nothing._

_"He studied hard to be Emperor before he presented. He lived as a farmer for half a year, five months more than I ordered. Left the village better than it was before. He learned more languages than the heir. He knows the history of not only Japan but also America, France, Britain, the powers of Europe," the Emperor pointed out. "When he presented, these ambitions did not go away."_

_Minako did not interrupt his musings. She waited patiently for him to finish._

_"He has turned his sight onto Russia." The Emperor paused again, his chair creaking. "The day he conquers Russia from within is the day we must fear for the world. I wonder if I want to be alive to see that day."_

_To that, the officer did not respond. She must have believed that the Emperor was not looking for a comment. She waited until the Emperor continued on with his agenda, making a few comments here and there._

_Yuuri left the Empress' dressing room once certain there was nothing more the Emperor needed to say about the prince._

* * *

Though the question of whether Viktor Alexandrovich would be Yuuri's husband hangs over his head, Yuuri continues with his lessons under the guidance of tutors selected by the Tsarina. He tries to play the demure bride, sweet and ignorant of the inner workings of the Russian court and the assassination of a former war minister named Viktor Viktorovich Sakharov by a communist, while the tutors squabble amongst themselves and complain about Phichit's presence, about the need for a translator for Yuuri to understand them. 

"Why must it be an Oriental bride for the Grand Duke," casually remarks one tutor, eagerly exchanging thoughtless commentary with the Grand Duchess's French tutor. "Any _proper_ omega would cut their right hand to marry the Duke. But this one. Hopeless. How can he even talk to the Grand Duke when all he knows is Japanese?" 

Phichit loudly shuts the textbook, drawing their eye. The beta glares at them both, only the French tutor appearing faintly apologetic. In Russian, he announces, "Any further statements of implied insults or disrespect regarding His Imperial Highness will not be tolerated. You must remember that this is the Tsar's will, and this marriage will be a blessing for Russia and Japan." 

In the meanwhile, Yuuri crudely copies Cyrillic, pretending to not understand a word. For extra effect, he butchers the letter Њ with more glee than he should feel. He does not feel a single drop of remorse. 

Dinner is a stiff, formal affair with every member of the Tsar's family dressed in their nicest evening wear. Yuuri knows from Yuuko, who has heard from the servants, that the royal family only behave formally when a guest joins them for dinner. But despite the formality the Tsarina and the Tsar try to instill, they can't stop the mischievous Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna from pulling pranks on the Japanese prince. She once placed a spider on his chair, which Yuuri didn't mind, for he simply squashed it with his fingers covered in a handkerchief. Yuuri doesn't mind the girl’s behavior. The girl is only six years old and a terror to the governess, who had spent hours begging the girl to climb down from the trees stretching on the grounds of the Alexander Palace. 

The attendees all converse in English, the only shared language between them all. Yuuri is quiet, though he partakes in conversation when someone addresses him. Usually, the Duchesses would ask a question about Japan and openly wonder at the cultural differences. To them, Japan is a faraway land, a place of mystery. Their father or mother or tutor must had spoken badly about it, for the young Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna innocently asked on the first night of dinner: 

"Do Japanese people look like yellow monkeys?" 

She has, since then, been forbidden by the Tsarina from asking Yuuri any questions, but from the mouth of the babe, the truth is revealed. No matter how kind the Tsarina or the Tsar act, Yuuri knows better than to believe the act they shroud themselves in. He's not completely ignorant of how Russia and Russians look at Japan. One of the big five powers in the entire world, Russia nearly suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of the superior Japanese military forces, an empire once mocked for being backwards and too Oriental, a far cry from 1853’s Japan when America’s Commodore Matthew Perry forced the empire to open borders and trade with four warships. 

The war has set Japan on the world stage as no small power but a force to be reckoned with. 

Yuuri knows Minako sometimes wondered if they could have forced the Russians into surrendering, if the diplomats did not rush their treaty under the tutelage of the Americans. But it doesn't matter anymore. It's not worth the effort or the thoughts to speculate what might have been. 

"Yuuri," the Tsar says, having finished speaking to Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna. The alpha, his eyes blue and his mustache curled, runs a hand through his light brown hair. "I wanted to tell you myself that my brother will be arriving in two weeks from Europe." 

The prince tries to read between the lines. Did the Tsar gather up his men and order them to bring back Yuuri's intended in chains? But the omega detects no hidden message. He inclines his head at the Tsar and speaks softly. "I look forward to meeting him." 

The Tsar says nothing more, starting up a conversation with his daughter Tatiana. The duchess has spent the entire day embroidering a handmade blanket for little Alexei Nikolaevich. 

Two weeks flit by faster than a blink of an eye. Grand Duke Viktor Alexandrovich arrives "dashingly handsome," as claimed by one maid. Yet the Japanese prince has seen not even a single hair of that infamous silver coloring. 

In the same breath, the maid gleefully whispers, "He had an argument with the Tsar again. Was so loud, anyone could hear them from outside the Tsar's study. Apparently, he nearly wed the Swiss omega." 

Yuuri does not even lift his head from his book as he pretends to read in his favorite spot behind a decorative large vase, enormous enough that a teenager could hide within. 

The maid, who should be dusting, continues gossiping, relaying every detail she could remember and then some. "The Swiss omega?" She giggles, scandalized. "Married. To a doctor. Probably thinks he could climb above his station." 

The omega flips a page, the maids offering not a single glance towards him. A potential partner in the Grand Duke's future? It wouldn't be hard for Yuuri to make a Swiss omega, married to a doctor, conveniently disappear. But it doesn't matter to Yuuri if the Grand Duke wishes to keep a mistress. The Emperor himself has concubines, though Yuuri's father does not. Yuuri knows his duty well. Bear the Grand Duke a heir and a spare, two boys who can ascend the throne. 

Afterwards, when the boys are old enough, Yuuri can discard the Grand Duke himself.

* * *

Five weeks before the wedding date, Yuuri attends church with the Tsar's family, the Grand Duke's absence barely felt. With his head bowed and his mouth forming the correct words, he is received into the Russian Orthodox Church as Yuri Alekseevich, converting himself fully so he could marry the Grand Duke. 

It's strange to be called Yuri Alekseevich by his future nieces, Yuuri thinks. But it's something that must be done, a process once undergone by the Tsarina herself, who converted from Lutheran and took the name of Alexandra Feodorovna, leaving her birth name behind. 

Whereas the Tsarina has fully embraced her new religion and the beliefs it entails, Yuuri has not. 

Yuuri's family, the same family ruling Japan for thousands of years, claimed to be descended from a kami named Amaterasu, the sun goddess. Though some may believe in that, the prince had abandoned the concept of religion at fifteen and cast aside the shattered remains when he presented at nineteen. 

On the day of the wedding, most of the guests have already arrived in St. Petersburg. The wedding is to be hosted at the Winter Palace, extravagant with no coin to be spared. Phichit had spent two entire days before the wedding trying to help Yuuri memorize the names of the important guests, including Crown Prince Frederick of Denmark, King George and Queen Olga of Greece, and most important of all, the empress dowager, who is the Tsar’s and the Grand Duke's mother. 

At the Embassy of Japan, Mari, representing Japan along with a small cohort of diplomats, helps adjust the wedding dress. Muttering in English, the alpha says with no small amount of worry, "I heard rumors about your future husband." 

Yuuri smiles. "Don't worry about me." 

A sudden gasp draws their attention. A woman with dark brown hair in full court attire, splendidly decked out with jewels, appraises the prince's dress stoically with startlingly azure eyes. Yuuri doesn't need Phichit's help to know that this is the empress dowager. 

With respect and warmth, Yuuri greets, "Maria Feodorovna, it's nice to meet you at last." 

"None of that," she chides in English, granting him a smile that reaches her eyes. "You will be married to my son in a few hours. You must call me Tyotya Maria." 

"Tyotya Maria," Yuuri repeats, nearly flinching at the way his Japanese accent stretched around the words. It means Auntie Maria in Russian. 

"I bring you something to see," she says, turning around to retrieve a black velvet box from her maid. "I heard that you do not have a nuptial crown." Popping open the box, the empress dowager presents a shiny crown covered in hundreds of miniature white diamonds. Six bands laced with even more diamonds arch backwards from the circular foundation to form the base of a cross, which is also lavished with diamonds. It's gaudy, obscenely so, that it takes everything in Yuuri to not let his lips curl in disgust. 

Not even the Empress possesses this many jewels in her very collection. Yet the Romanovs have thought to create this show of wealth and grandeur. 

"My nephew will hold it for you during the ceremony until the priest is ready to crown you," she says, returning the crown to the box. The empress dowager eyes his wedding attire, critically examining the sleeveless white wedding dress laced with gold thread. She brushes the trimmed lines at his shoulder, fingers shooing away invisible dust. She glances at his v-shaped cut in the front and inquires, "Do you have a necklace?" 

"Yes," Mari answers, speaking before Yuuri could. She lifts a box from the table, revealing a simple necklace with a beautiful droplet of blood red ruby, the size of a small orange, the centerpiece of the necklace. "It's a gift from our parents. They're sorry they could not attend." 

"It's beautiful. Elegant," the empress dowager comments, stepping back to allow the alpha to place the jewelry around the prince's neck. "Don't forget the veil." 

It's one of the few decisions Yuuri made for himself. A short train, a long veil made by hands, labored by Japanese seamstresses. Embroidered in the white silk veil are chrysanthemums, the symbol of the Japanese royal family. Though the dress is Western, the veil stretches out for five meters, reminding the prince of his homeland, the land he belongs to. When the veil floats down over his face, Yuuri blinks, allowing his eyes to adjust to the milky sight of the world. 

"You're ready," Mari declares, after finishing final adjustments on the veil. She straightens and beckons Phichit forward. "We have prepared another room so we can take a photograph to send back to Japan." 

"Oh, I love photographs," says the empress dowager, clasping her hands together. "You must keep every picture for the memories." 

After Phichit has finished taking photographs of Yuuri in different postures and from different angles, the prince is escorted into a coach by Mari and Tyotya Maria along with no small cohort of guards selected by both the Emperor and the prince's father. Yuuri, however, is mostly relieved at seeing Morooka and Takeshi, who have been with him since he was merely a young boy. 

The ride to the Winter Palace remains uneventful except for the jostling of the carriage. The prince is not offered even a view of St. Petersburg as he stares ahead at his sister sitting on the other side. Though Yuuri keeps his silence, he can't help but wonder about Viktor Alexandrovich. What is he like as a man? As a husband? As a father? Yuuri will be marrying a complete stranger; all he knows of the Grand Duke is from rumors, and suddenly, the prince feels as if the information he holds in his palms is quite inadequate. So he turns his head and addresses his future mother-in-law sitting beside him. "Tyotya Maria, what is Viktor like?" 

"Vitya?" She pauses, her fingers ceasing their rhythmic taps on her knee. "Sweet and caring. He always remembers every single one of my birthdays. He dotes on his nieces and nephews. Gifts from Paris, toys from Britain. He tried to persuade Nicky to get a respectable London doctor to see. . ." Her voice drifts off, her lips forming into a polite but false smile. She does not finish her thought. 

The carriage rolls to a complete stop. 

A soft rap at the coach's door accompanies Takeshi's words. In Japanese, he informs, "We have arrived at the Winter Palace." The prince's guard proceeds to open the door, helping Princess Mari step out of the carriage. With gloved hands, he assists the empress dowager. 

Finally, Yuuri steps out. Two page boys emerge from the carriage behind him, holding the ends of his laced veil. He slowly marches into the Winter Palace, following the empress dowager dressed in her finery. The church he's to be married in is located in the eastern wing of the Winter Palace, residing on the piano nobile, the second storey. 

Unpleasant heat pools in Yuuri's stomach as curious eyes move to gawk at him. He's thankful for the veil shielding his face as he patiently waits for his future husband, Viktor Alexandrovich, to mount the dais. The omega wishes to curse his terrible eyesight aloud for he only sees an unruly mass of red, gold, and white approaching the priest. 

Then Tyotya Maria murmurs, "It's time." With that, she leads him to the dais and leaves him to stand at the right of Yuuri's future husband. 

The prince's heart races, and the priest's blessing becomes nothing but a piercing whistle, the words inaudible. For the past few months, Yuuri has held his head high as he faced his arranged engagement head-on without a single wavering thought. But now, in front of hundreds of guests of various importance and statuses, all the _doubts_ and _misgivings_ rush to Yuuri, weighing him down like a large stone tied to his foot and drowning him so. 

"Yuri Alekseevich? Yuri Alekseevich?" The priest repeats, shaking the prince out of his thoughts. He smiles gently at the omega and holds out a simple gold ring. In English, he whispers, prompting Yuuri as if the prince has forgotten, "The rings." 

Yuuri reaches for the ring, surprised by its lightness. He turns to his future husband, following the traditions of a Romanov royal wedding. The omega drops his sight to the alpha's bare hands, also holding a ring between his fingers. The rings, he thinks. He must carry out the traditions. Steel settles into his stomach, and resolve strengthens his limbs. Yes, he must carry out the traditions. He can do this. 

They exchange the rings three times, and each time, Yuuri's skin meets the Grand Duke's, surprisingly warm at the very brush. He freezes under the Grand Duke's touch as the alpha slips the ring onto the right hand. Yuuri barely manages to gather enough wits to do the same for his future husband. 

With that, they turn to the priest, kneeling down. Two men dressed in full military uniforms with medals on their chest hold the nuptial crowns above their heads. One is the Tsar himself, and the other is the Grand Duke’s cousin. The priest throws himself into another monologue, asking Viktor Alexandrovich if he consented to this union in Russian. 

Yuuri waits, resisting the urge to turn to the Grand Duke for an answer, shoving the desire to watch his betrothed's face. 

After a pause, Viktor Alexandrovich begins his vows, solemn as if reciting a prayer or a blessing before the deceased body of his father. "Da." 

Yes.

Then the priest asks in Russian, “Have you already promised your heart to someone else which would make this marriage false?” 

“Nyet.”

No. 

"Yuri Alekseevich," the priest begins, repeating the same two questions. 

Yuuri practiced this moment with his tutors. Exasperated by the fact they could not seemingly teach him a single sentence of Russian, they commanded him to wait three seconds after the priest has finished speaking to say, "Da.” A minute later, he says, “Nyet.” 

Satisfied, the priest throws himself into yet another prayer, issuing blessing after blessing as the choir echoes him in an ektenia. The prayer seems to drone on forever, the words mushing together like an unpleasant song. When the priest finally finishes, he steps forward and takes the crown from the Tsar. He places it upon Viktor Alexandrovich's head first, securing it so. Then the priest moves to Yuuri, taking the crown from the Grand Duke’s cousin. 

Yuuri bends his neck, allowing the priest to place the crown upon his head. He patiently waits as the priest gently coaxes the flaps into the way he wanted, pinning the crown and attempting not to tear the veil. 

Then together, they rise, standing once more. 

The priest opens a book, reading the words of a passage aloud in Russian. The Gospel, the prince assumes. 

It's perhaps twenty minutes past noon yet Yuuri would like nothing more than to fall asleep in the very place he knelt even with the choir singing loudly, as if their God is deaf. A sudden brush at the back of his hand startles him. His head snaps slightly at his betrothed, who has offered his hand to the prince. 

With only the slightest of hesitation, Yuuri reaches out to grasp his betrothed's right hand, fingers threading. He's surprisingly warm, and Yuuri silently frets at the sweat gathering in his palm. The Grand Duke would be able to feel how wrought with nerves he is. 

The priest binds them together, wrapping his stole around their intertwined hands. He leads them around an analogion, a lectern bearing the Gospel upon its slanted surface. 

By the second turn around the analogion, Yuuri is feeling dizzy, not because of the spins but rather by the piercing stares of the quiet audience standing in front of the dais. The prince is eager to stand still once more, facing the priest speaking his final words and his dismissal.

* * *

The reception is hosted in the west wing of the Winter Palace. Yuuri has not uttered even a word to his husband as they're led around the grounds of the Winter Palace and through the grand double doors of a ballroom, fabulous with extravagant style that Yuuri has come to associate with the Russians. Gold drips from the curtains and the very walls, as if poured from the ceiling, solidifying in place. 

The guests cheer upon seeing them. Mari hands him a glass of champagne, bubbling and sparkling like molten gold. 

The toast. First to the newly wedded couple, Yuri Alekseevich and Viktor Alexandrovich. Yuuri slips the glass under the veil, taking a sip from the flute, his tongue tingling with the taste of champagne. His mouth is suddenly dry, and his eyes inadvertently flick to his husband. 

"Gor’ko! Gor’ko! Gor’ko!" Some of the guests shout. 

His husband releases the prince's hand, the first time since the wedding ceremony. The champagne glass is freed from Yuuri's grip, and then Viktor Alexandrovich lifts the ends of the veil, pulling it over Yuuri's head and the nuptial crown. 

And there, Yuuri waits, his breath held tight in his chest as he sees his husband without the milky filter of the veil. Viktor Alexandrovich is handsome, austere with a chiseled jaw and infamous pale blond, nearly silver, hair. He's taller than what Yuuri expected, and he must lean down as his finger gently tilts the prince's chin up to meet his mouth in a kiss, washing away the sparkling taste of champagne.

It's a kiss, simple, that lasts for minutes, as per tradition. It's a kiss that sends Yuuri's toes tingling with pleasure, the cheering of the guests melting away and fading from the omega's thoughts. It's a kiss that leaves Yuuri _living_ in the moment, a kiss that teases the future as they pull away, eyes shut, with only the taste of each other. 

Yuuri has seen unhappy marriages before. He has seen marriages where the alpha wife longs for nothing more than the arms of her beloved concubine while the stern-faced spouse gloomily drinks bottles of sake without coming up for air. But he's beginning to suspect that there is something more Yuuri can work with, that he does not have to bear an alpha son and carve him into a Tsar. No, Yuuri can feel the spark of attraction, the way his blood sings in delight and the way Viktor Alexandrovich's icy blue eyes widen in surprise. 

Then a toast is called for Yuuri's parents, Tyotya Maria, and the late Tsar. They drink to that, Yuuri's face turning away from his husband's unrelenting eyes. 

Mari, in English, notes, "It's a pity our parents couldn't come. They would have liked to see it." 

With a champagne flute held by her fingers, Tyotya Maria, hovering close to the couple, asks, "Why couldn't they come? I'm sure your mother could have been spared at the very least." 

"Mother does not fare well on boats," Mari replies, her Japanese accent heavily dressing her words. She spent some months in England to learn English, but she didn't grasp it as well as Yuuri had. "Besides, she has her hands full. My son is a troublemaker." 

"How old is he?" 

"One and a half." 

"A wonderful age. To be so young and carefree," the dowager empress muses. Then as if noticing a cue, she turns to Yuuri and her son. "It's time for the first dance. You must dance the waltz."

"Wait," Mari interrupts, snapping her fingers at her maid. "We must switch the veil." 

The omega tries not to fidget as his sister gently works the veil off his hair. The nuptial crown is handed to Tyotya Maria, who has discarded her champagne flute, for a brief moment until a shorter veil, meant for the reception but with the same pattern as the wedding veil, is secured to Yuuri's head. It barely reaches the prince's hip. 

Tyotya Maria steps forward, the crown in her hands. "Hold still, please." A pause. "There. Now, you're ready." 

Yuuri finds the Grand Duke reaching out for the prince's hand once again. He struggles not to notice the eyes of all the guests at the reception, keeping himself focused on the jingling medals pinned to his husband's military uniform. Then he forces himself to look up even higher until his eyes are affixed to the alpha's jaw. 

The music starts, a small ensemble of eight musicians playing loudly from the corner. The alpha leads them silently around the dance floor, every movement precise. It's only thanks to the Empress that Yuuri manages to keep up, her dance lessons ingrained in his muscles. 

"You dance well," Viktor Alexandrovich says. 

"I. . ." Startled, Yuuri quickly finishes lamely, "Thank you. You dance well too." 

The waltz ends sooner than he expects, the song finishing with a grand flurry of violins, the bows slashed hard against the strings. 

Applause. 

Then the newlyweds are at the door, the first to leave the reception as the guests see them off. The reception will go on without them, the party lively with singing and drinking. A carriage, decorated with flowers, awaits them. It will take them to Anichkov Palace, where they will stay for the night. 

Then it's off to Moscow for the honeymoon. 

It takes a long time for Yuuri to realize he's still holding his husband's hand.

* * *

_Boris Mikhailovich was the assistant to the Tsar. He was placed in charge of the wedding preparations, overseeing the hiring of additional servants and procuring bottles of wine. He was a stocky but short man, his eyeglasses set low on his nose, rendering him incapable of meeting anyone's eyes. He preferred the company of his trusty notebook than to glance upwards at Phichit translating for Yuuri._

_"The Tsar has requested that you do not honeymoon in Europe, specifically in the Western region," the man said, scribbling down some notes. "Everywhere else is acceptable."_

_Yuuri didn't need a clue to understand the Tsar's intentions. He meant he didn't want Yuuri and his future husband to be anywhere near Switzerland. Specifically, he did not want Viktor Alexandrovich to be wandering into Switzerland to have a small tryst with the married omega. The omega spoke in Japanese, "How about Russia? I would like to see more of it."_

_The beta blanched. "Your Imperial Highness, I. . ." He patted his temple. "I suppose anywhere in Russia will do but not St. Petersburg or Kiev."_

_"Why not Kiev?" Yuuri asked._

_"His Imperial Highness owns estates in Kiev. It's where he resides for most of the year." The assistant suggested, "There are wonderful sights in Moscow. Novonikolayevsk is another option. Or Yekaterinburg."_

_"Moscow then," the prince said. It was the only city he recognized._

_"Very good."_

_Two weeks later, the assistant sent a finalized itinerary detailing the honeymoon. The day after the wedding night, they are expected to be on a train. Their destination is Nikolayevsky Station, a train station in Moscow. Then Viktor Alexandrovich will take him to an Imperial Palace where they will spend the rest of their honeymoon._

* * *

"A few more photographs before we release you," Phichit says in English, dressed in his best three-piece suit with a red handkerchief. He slaps the photographer on his back. In Russian, he orders, "Make sure you get the best angles. The bride's parents and the Emperor will be seeing this." 

"Da," agrees the photographer. 

Yuuri sits in the chair while his husband stands at his side. Their expressions are neutral as the camera flashes over and over and over again. 

"I have enough," says the photographer after taking perhaps the tenth photo. 

"Your Imperial Highness, wait," Yuuri's assistant speaks. "Turn your heads towards each other please." 

After a moment, the prince swivels his head, his chin lifting to see the Grand Duke. His eyes are startlingly blue like the dowager empress, though there is none of the same warmth he's seen in Tyotya Maria's eyes. 

"Smile," Phichit orders. 

Yuuri tries to make his lips curl upwards in a mimicry of a smile. His husband does as well, the smile not even crinkling his eyes. The tension stiffens, and the flash of the camera seems to last for an eternity. 

"Perfect."

* * *

After suffering through a quiet dinner while sitting at the end of a long table with his husband on the other side, Yuuri absconds into their suite, well-lit by electric lamps. As per tradition, the omega enters the bedroom first to prepare a nest for the wedding night. He's given half an hour to rearrange the silk blankets and pillows he brought from home, soft and luxurious against the bare skin. Each one bears a unique pattern or image. Yuuri's favorite is the blanket of pink fish swimming in a sea of lily pads and flowers. 

Time must have been flying for a knock at the door signals the groom's entrance. Still, the omega is pleasantly surprised when the alpha asks through the door, "Are you ready?" 

A part of him silently wonders if he answered no, would the alpha turn himself away from the door? Or would he have forced himself in like one of those barbarian alphas he's heard of? 

It doesn't matter. 

"Yes." And Yuuri is surprised by the unwavering quality of his voice. 

Viktor Alexandrovich opens the door, pushing in. He's still dressed in his military uniform, the colors of blue and red bright. Half a dozen medals are pinned to his chest, and gold epaulettes dangle from his shoulders. 

Yuuri straightens, stepping away from the nest on the bed. His breath stays in his chest, not released out of anticipation. Does his husband not like the nest? Will he hate the shape of it? He has read that Asian and European omegas create their nests differently, because they learned different methods from their parents. 

"It's beautiful." 

And with that, Yuuri lets out a sigh, deeply relieved. He approves. He waits for a minute. Then a moment, puzzled by the lack of further responses from the alpha. Do European alphas do things differently or is the Grand Duke suddenly shy, as if alone with an omega for the first time ever? He shakes his head and turns, hands gripping his wedding dress as he shows his back to his husband. Yuuri lifts the veil out of the way, his finger finding the topmost button. "Viktor Alexandrovich," he pauses in English, "could you please help me?" 

The alpha doesn't reply, stepping forward as if beckoned. His form looms over Yuuri, hot breath brushing against the bare neck of the omega. His fingers begin with the top button, and slowly, he works his way down, his fingers deftly flicking open the tiny buttons with ease. His knuckles press against the prince's chemise, sending a shiver of anticipation down the omega's spine. 

"This is happening," Yuuri breathes, murmuring quietly in Japanese. He almost dares himself to pinch his arm, but he can't. He would ruin the moment, so he lifts his hands to his hair, slowly removing the nuptial crown and wedding veil. He freezes upon feeling hands resting over his own. 

"I'll take it," the Grand Duke whispers. "I'll put it on the table." 

Yuuri feels bereft when the alpha moves to do exactly what he says. A sudden chill has settled in him, his nipples taut, peaking the wedding dress. He's not used to the Russian weather, much colder than the warm Japanese climate in the winter. 

"Are you nervous?" The alpha busies himself with the veil, ensuring none of its length would be on the floor and dirtied. "We don't have to do this tonight." 

The omega finds his voice, finally summoning up the will to ask. "If I said I don't want to do this, what would we do then?" His hands clutch at the wedding dress threatening to slip to the floor. 

"Sleep." He adds, "Then we leave for Moscow in the morning." 

Two months after presenting as an omega, Yuuri suffered through a lesson given by his cousin's tutor. The tutor, specializing in preparing students for marriage but specifically omegas, advised, in a memorable moment, "On the wedding night and throughout married life, your husband, your wife, your alpha, may be overwhelmed by their primal urges. You must do nothing to stop their advances. If it becomes unbearable, close your eyes and think of Japan." 

The omega has never felt more sorry and pity for his cousin in the moment understanding of the tutor's words hit him. Thankfully, a month after Yuuri's lesson, the tutor had a convenient personal crisis in her life and needed to quit. She was replaced by someone more enlightened. 

"I'm not nervous," Yuuri declares, his eyes lidded. With those words, his wedding dress drops and forms a white pool around his ankles. In a simple chemise, he inquires, "Are you?" 

The Grand Duke seems dumbfounded, his mouth unable to utter a single word. 

The omega takes that as encouragement to advance to his alpha, stalking towards him as he pushes down the straps of his chemise. In a low-pitched purr, Yuuri asks, his pale fingers tantalizingly running down the blue sash of his husband's military dress, "Come into my nest, Viktor Alexandrovich." 

"Vitya, not Viktor Alexandrovich," the alpha corrects, his voice soft. “Viktor Alexandrovich is too formal for someone who is your husband.” 

"Vitya," Yuuri repeats, his accent butchering the consonants. But from the way his husband smiles, the prince knows he doesn't mind at all. He finds the buttons holding the military uniform together and begins to unwrap his husband, every layer revealed a never-ending surprise. Clothes fall onto the floor; neither of them notice, too engrossed in each other. 

The alpha pushes down Yuuri's chemise, blue eyes drinking in the prince's half-nude form. His finger brushes the hardened nub, drawing out a sudden cry of surprise from the omega. 

The chemise slides off Yuuri's legs, and he falls backwards into the nest. When he lies back with the alpha stripping away the last of his layers, he is not thinking of Japan. 

In fact, he's hardly thinking of anything, inhaling the heavenly scent of his alpha as the other man deftly pushes down Yuuri's laced panties. The air is thick with their pheromones, mixing together lewdly in lust and desire. The constant line of thoughts melts away from Yuuri as he drinks in the Grand Duke's scent, smelling sweet like honey with a citrusy tang. 

The alpha settles into the nest, panties tossed into a nearby armchair. Gazing down at the omega lying on his back, he asks, "Are you certain?" 

In lieu of a verbal answer, Yuuri spreads his thighs apart, his legs parting as cool air teases at his sensitive skin. The chill has done nothing but highlight how achingly wet the omega is at his entrance. He squirms under the unrelenting eyes of his alpha, neck baring itself, the scent gland unmarked. 

Viktor's finger dips into Yuuri's entrance, every touch searing. The omega has touched himself frequently, but it's completely different to have someone else touch him at his hole, every sensation pulsating, sending his blood into a rush. In Russian, he murmurs with a touch of awe, "You're beautiful." 

It's not the words but rather the reverent tone that has Yuuri blushing, his cheeks turning into a deep scarlet. Then he's blushing even harder as the alpha lowers his head, his mouth pressed against the sensitive scent gland on Yuuri's inner thigh. He jolts in surprise, squirming until Viktor's hands grip his thighs, his tongue sampling a taste of the omega's slick. 

A hand strokes Yuuri's cock, and a finger slips inside of Yuuri's entrance, the slick making its passage somewhat easier. Viktor lifts his head up slightly, murmuring in English. "Relax, relax. Don't be tensed." 

The omega nods, trying his hardest not to reflexively squeeze Viktor's finger. He has, out of curiosity, experimented with himself in the past and during his heat. He finds little appeal in fingering himself when his cock and folds provide greater sensations, preferring to stroke himself to completion. But from the way the alpha touches him, it’s as if new nerve ends have been discovered, raw and aching for more. As he adjusts to Viktor’s finger, he gasps sharply as the alpha stretches, adding in a second finger. His eyes roll back as the alpha presses against a sensitive spot, sending the omega aflame with pleasure. 

"Ah," Yuuri gasps, squirming. But his thighs are pushed down by the alpha, pinned to the mattress. He's desperately rolling his hips, seeking more of the alpha, his mind descending into a more primal state. His hands reach for his alpha, pushing him back. 

Viktor rolls over and lands on his back, his breath knocked out of his chest. Two slicked fingers, the ones that were in Yuuri, run over Viktor's lips in a lewd rendition of lipstick. He smiles at the omega straddling his hips. As if struck witless by the sudden maneuver, he murmurs, "Hello, there." 

Rocking his hips over the alpha's endowed erection, feverishly chasing his own desire, Yuuri declares in English, "Move faster, less foreplay." He adds with a snap, "It would have been almost breakfast by the time you'd knotted me." 

"Oh?" His pale eyelashes flutter. "Anything else?" 

"I'm not that breakable nor am I that innocent," Yuuri scandalously says, his lips seizing Viktor's mouth, tasting his own slick on the alpha's tongue. Then the omega pulls back and takes control, his hand reaching down to guide the alpha's cock into his weeping, slicked hole. 

"You should slow down, oh, ah!" He mutters a barrage of curses under his breath in Russian as Yuuri sinks down, his tight hole clenching around the other man's cock. 

At the sudden burn, Yuuri slows, panting quickly. Perhaps Viktor has the right idea in taking it slow for he stretches Yuuri in ways he's never dreamed before. He paces himself, sinking down slowly. He likes being on top of Viktor, watching the shadowed expression cross the alpha's face, as he pins the alpha into the mattress. Yuuri wonders if this is the height of ecstasy Julius Caesar must have felt when he defeated his enemies in Egypt and put Cleopatra on the throne, unstoppable and powerful, like a vengeful god on the battlefields. He sinks down until the alpha is fully sheathed in Yuuri, the omega feeling a dizzy pulse strumming between them at where they connect. 

He moves slowly, rolling his hips as he savors the friction. The burn slowly melts away, and short gasps escape from his mouth, his fingers following the smooth planes of his husband’s chest. Viktor has fresh-looking scars on his arms, possibly gained from the war. It makes this creature look human, a man who is as mortal as everyone else, made out of flesh and blood. Yuuri's hand splays over his alpha's heart, feeling the heart drum to a steady but quick beat. 

Then Viktor grasps his hips, guiding the omega's motions. He thrusts slowly into Yuuri, at first. Then the pace quickens as the alpha moves faster, his rhythm erratic. "Blyad," he curses under his breath. With that, he snaps, returning every bit the omega has given, leaving marks on the prince's pale skin. 

Yuuri’s torso bows, bouncing freely on Viktor’s lap. His moans slip out unbidden, yet the alpha doesn’t seem to mind at all. It’s a far cry from the demure omega some people expect on the wedding night. Then he clutches the alpha’s shoulder for stability, his torso bending in release, his mouth open in a silent scream. He flops besides Viktor, suddenly boneless, his limbs unresponsive. 

The alpha slowly pulls out. Completely naked, he swings himself over the wall of the nest, disappearing into the bathroom. He returns with a wet towelette in his hands and climbs back into bed. With a gentle touch, he parts Yuuri’s legs, carefully wiping away the seed leaking from Yuuri’s hole. He disappears again, returning to the bathroom, the water running as the alpha briefly washes up. 

Once finished in the bathroom, he turns off all the lights and climbs into the nest, pulling up the blankets. 

It’s completely dark, yet Yuuri’s eyes remain wide awake, listening to every single breath his alpha exhales. A thought, slithering around his spine like a snake, nags at him, whispering. He stares up at nothing, the curtains too thick to let even moonlight through the windows. There is an itch scratching at the omega, and he’s too unsettled by it to even sleep. He spends another three minutes looking into the abyss of darkness until he suddenly says, “Vitya, are you awake?”

“Mmm.” There’s a grunt from his alpha. 

Contemptuously, Yuuri tells him, “You didn’t knot me. Nor did you bite me.” He rolls over, facing the alpha, though he sees only dark shadows of nothing. 

There’s a sudden intake of air, as if Viktor is about to dive into a speech or a battle cry, as if he’s about to start perhaps the first argument in their marriage. Then he exhales and inquires gently, “Are you sure you want to?” 

“I am certain.” 

Like a curse, he mutters, “Nenasytnyy.” 

Insatiable. 

Is that a bad thing?

“Turn over,” he whispers, his breath dancing across Yuuri’s cheek. Under the thick blanket, his palms find the curve of the omega’s waist, guiding him onto his stomach. Softer than a cat’s footfalls, he purrs, “I will mount you.” 

In the forefront of Yuuri’s mind, he tells himself that it’s important he is knotted and then bonded with the alpha. That way, the chances for pregnancy are high and he can find his alpha son, his Tsar, quickly. Viktor needs to fill him up, pump his cunt so full of seed that he will have no choice but to catch. He wants his belly full, the muted desires for a child stirring within his heart. He tells himself that it's all for the child or children even as slick drips from his entrance, leaking onto the sheets. He rests on his elbows, his bottom raised for the alpha. 

Viktor takes his time, leisurely dipping his tongue into Yuuri's hole, the slick gathering on his lips. He holds the omega still even as Yuuri pushes back, his thighs spreading for greater access. 

"Your cock, alpha," Yuuri says, his mouth unused to begging. Freely, he continues in a hazy string of pleas slipping from his tongue, "Fill me up, Vitya." His accent thickens, the English warbled yet desperate. "Give me all the babies," he slurs. 

"Blyad," Viktor curses again, pulling his mouth away from Yuuri. Sounding vaguely unsure, he asks, "You certain?" 

Something inside of Yuuri snaps, and he rolls onto his back, his limbs crashing into the alpha's thighs. He pushes himself up until his teeth near the other man's scent gland. He repeats himself, his words leaving no room for any more unimpressive questions, "I am not that breakable. I want your knot." And with that, the omega's hand slips downwards, easily finding the alpha's erection. He strokes it, his fingers wrapping around its sizable girth. "I want you to knot me so thoroughly that I don't need a heat to get pregnant." 

A choking gasp escapes from the alpha, sounding as if someone has stabbed him from the back. He remains frozen for a second, then two and three, leaving the omega to wonder if he has accidentally broken his alpha on their wedding night. 

But no, Viktor whispers, his voice soft but commanding enough to send a shiver through Yuuri's spine, "Present." 

And Yuuri obeys, turning onto his stomach. The omega hides a smile in his pillow, his lips brushing the soft material. His hips cant, his knees bent and bearing his weight. A moan, muffled by the pillow, slips through his lips as his husband carefully pushes his cock through Yuuri's slicked entrance, every inch feeling like a slice of paradise. And then the alpha moves, the friction setting the omega aflame, moaning into the pillow. 

There is no foreplay, no teasing, just the brutal snap of Viktor's hips as he grips Yuuri's hips, hand stroking Yuuri’s cock, nails digging into the omega’s plushed curves. Pheromones thicken between them, the sound of skin slapping barely heard over the sound of Yuuri’s drawn-out moans and the alpha’s desperate gasps. 

This is what he’s been looking for, the sensation of being so deeply filled that it leaves no other room for thought. And Yuuri nearly weeps, shameless pleas on the tip of his tongue, when he feels the base of the alpha’s knot forming. His mouth widens, finding words again. “Knot, please, please. Ahh—” 

Yuuri arches, the knot stretching him far wider than he's ever been. He savors the quick flash of a burn, and he's screaming his release, Viktor's hand around the omega's cock wet. 

Viktor rolls his hips, his knot firmly locked in the omega, hot seed filling Yuuri's cunt. His teeth suddenly find the omega's neck, and aiming true like an archer's arrow, the alpha bites down into Yuuri's scent gland, ruining Yuuri for anyone else. A permanent mark, irrevocable. 

The omega purrs, allowing Viktor to spoon him from behind as they settle onto the mattress, lying on their sides. 

With his knot buried deep inside of the omega, Viktor pulls the blanket over them both, arms wrapping around the other man. His nose posessively presses itself against Yuuri's marked scent gland, and together, they fall asleep.

* * *

The next morning finds the omega rolling over and curling his body instinctively, languishing in the warm heat of his husband's body. At some point, his husband must have awakened during the night to slip his knot free and clean the omega with a towel. His eyes pop open, and he unwittingly stares at the sleeping face next to him, at the infamous silver hair, at the soft pale eyelashes. So this is the military officer who held off the Japanese forces at Manchuria, preventing the army from gaining a strong foothold beyond the Korean peninsula. 

So this is the Colonel. 

Yuuri remembers the old tutor's words. The one who used to teach his cousin, that is. She was a terror in explaining the role of an omega, but what she said wasn't any less true despite the increasingly progressive movement occurring in the West, specifically in Britain and America. Yuuri knows that as an omega in Russia, he has very little power and the only power he can gain is through his child. 

The omega eyes his husband speculatively. Maybe his husband as well. 

Before he left Japan and read his itinerary, Mari joked in private, "If you're not happy with your husband, you can create a convenient motorcycle accident once he has given you an heir and spare. You will be the prettiest widow of all times. You can cry beautifully if you don't choke on your tears." 

There are times when Yuuri wonders if his sister knew his exact thoughts. There are other times where Yuuri wonders if she's catching on with the games he plays at court, if she realizes that idea is one of the many plots he has on his mind. Poisoning, mugging, assassination by an angry peasant, the list of plots continues. 

His husband's eyes flick open, catching Yuuri ogling shamelessly at him. 

His cheeks reddening, Yuuri glances away, burrowing himself under the blankets. Yet, a finger at his chin invites him to look at Viktor. 

"You're free to stare however long you like," he says. "Don't be shy now." 

Yuuri nods, pressing himself against Viktor as he fixes the blankets to cover his neck. A brief glance at the window tells him it must be some time during the day. Perhaps early noon. 

"Tired?" 

The omega nods again. 

"Sleep. The train can wait." 

Yuuri closes his eyes, his intentions and thoughts far away from sleep. But as he listens to Viktor softly croon a Russian love song, he can't help the heaviness of his eyelids and falls fast asleep in his husband's arms.

* * *

It's evening when they finally arrive at the train station crowded with people, mostly peasants dressed in a patchwork of clothes, thick black coats fit for winter, and caps, their pale faces noticing the Grand Duke's automobile and escorts. They begin screaming in Russian, anger in their very tone. 

"Sorry, sir," says Viktor's driver in Russian, the automobile slowing to not hit anything. "The Imperial Guards were supposed to clear the rioters before we arrived." 

Yuuri dares to look out into the crowd, noticing the signs they carry. A large white sign with red Cryllic raised by two peasant girls draws his eye. _Zhit' v obshchestve i byt' svobodnym ot obshchestva nel'zya._

_One cannot live in society and be free from society._

The omega only feels contemplation and the vague feeling of curiosity as he sits in a luxurious train compartment carrying him and his husband to Moscow. He glances back towards St. Petersburg, unable to see any of the protesters. The train station melts away from view, and small white flecks of snow begins to fall, hiding away the train tracks. 

“To Moscow now,” Viktor says, seemingly undisturbed by the feverish cries and passionate shouts of the protestors. “I think you’ll like Petrovsky Palace. It has a grand history. Catherine commissioned its construction but visited it once. Napoleon once hid himself in the palace during the war to escape the fire that burned through Moscow in 1812. That was back when Napoleon tried to conquer Russia during the brutal winter. Almost a hundred years ago.” 

"Who are those people?" Yuuri inquires, after a moment of silence. 

"They're upset at the Tsar." But he brightens and adds, "You don't need to worry about them. I'm certain my brother has it handled." 

"Yes," says the omega. He changes the subject, glancing away from the window. He thinks the protests are worth watching, a far cry from the rigidity and authority and intolerance presented by the autocratic Tsar, but he keeps the thought quietly to himself. "To Moscow then." 

Yuuri ignores the jolting skip of his heart when his husband flashes a wide heart-shaped smile at the omega. It's only the nerves, he tells himself. He can almost believe it. 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about including dynamics for historical figures, but then I realized it's not great, so I'm only pointing it out selectively.

Though Viktor has boasted about Petrovsky Palace and its illustrious history, Yuuri has seen very little of it once he absconds into the honeymoon suite, riding out the waves of his husband's rut. It takes four days for the rut to recede, the masses of bruises and marks on Yuuri's skin a testament to his alpha's amorous devotion. He lies on his stomach, his legs aching as if he decided to spend days out in the field, harvesting rice in backbreaking work. 

Spooning the omega, Viktor nuzzles the nape of the omega's neck, his bearings and wits returning. "I'm sorry." 

"For what?" The omega turns his head, his eyes finding the alpha's. He's puzzled. 

"I was rough." His finger delicately traces a faint purple mark at Yuuri's shoulder. "Too rough." 

Yuuri rolls over, burrowing himself into the sheets. He reaches out to the alpha, his ear pressed against Viktor's chest, listening to the steady beats of his heart. "I told you before. I'm not that breakable, I'm not anything like a delicate set of china, and I. . ." His voice drifts off. 

"And you what?" Viktor prompts. 

"I liked it," the omega admits, the bundle of nerves at his shoulder relaxing. He rolls over, his naked back relishing the warmth provided by his new husband. "I was only taken by surprise. Are your ruts consistent?" 

"Da," he confirms, his fingers finding Yuuri's hand. With his arms wrapped around the omega, he lifts Yuuri's hand, fingers interwoven in a strange sort of intimacy the omega has never tasted before. "It came a week earlier," he pauses, his breath warming the omega's cheek. "I think it came earlier because of you." 

Yuuri ignores the secret twist of delight in his stomach. Keeping his voice soft, he whispers, "My heat is not due for another month. Late January, early February." 

"Are the cycles consistent?" 

"Yes." He pauses, glancing away, suddenly shy as if he has never spent a night in Viktor's bed. "Would you share it with me?" 

"It would be my greatest pleasure," the other man answers, his eyes sparkling like the stars just peeking behind their window. "Just let me know when. I unfortunately have to attend training next month." 

"Training?" Yuuri thinks back, trying to recall anyone mentioning anything about training in the same sentence as Viktor Alexandrovich. He draws a complete blank. Not even Morooka, whose business is secrets, nor Phichit, who knows every shred of gossip, has informed him. 

"Well, you see, I am an officer in the army. I'm overseeing the military exercises of a regiment," Viktor explains patiently, as if their countries were not at war only a few months ago. "Cuirassiers. We train on horseback." 

Calvary. Soldiers who fight on horseback. Quick and nimble. The Japanese Imperial Army possesses a few of those. Dragoons, they're called. Soldiers would move on horses and then dismount to fight on foot. Yuuri has a strong opinion that horses, which are rather large and easy targets for bullets, are no longer needed on the battlefields with the current expansion in automotive technology. But, of course, that is his own opinion and he will not show his husband how informed he is regarding warfare. It's not what a proper omega knows. 

"How long will the training be?" 

"A month." 

Yuuri must have frowned. Or perhaps his scent has soured, for his husband is quick to reassure him, kissing the omega's scent gland at his wrist, every brush of soft lips sending shivers of delight down Yuuri's spine. 

"Do not worry," Viktor whispers. "It won't be until after we spend Christmas in Tsarskoye Selo." 

"Tsarskoye Selo?" Yuuri has not heard of this plan. The Alexander Palace, where he previously lived for a few months prior to marrying Viktor, is located in Tsarskoye Selo, St. Petersburg, the capital of Imperial Russia. Phichit has not mentioned any of this to him. 

"It's an annual tradition. Exciting, especially for the children. We will be returning to St. Petersburg on December fifteenth, and we will be staying with Mama at Anichkov Palace." 

The omega searches his memories, trying to remember what is so important about Christmas. He remembers it being mentioned when he went to London representing Japan and briefly met King Edward VII, who is rumored to be quite perverted and makes Viktor with all the palace's gossips about married omegas and Switzerland look like a celibate monk in comparison. He's thankful he did not present as an omega then. The British king has a particular taste, or so Yuuri has heard. What was it that got the London hotel's staff in a tizzy? Daisy, the Countess of Warwick, the one who touts her nightly relationship with the king and is not known for her discretion. But yes, Yuuri is beginning to recall the issue of a scandalous Christmas gift to the king that involved her, a brothel frequented by the king, and the British Queen's cold shoulder. According to the loquacious hotel porter, the queen was not upset about the gift but rather by how shameless the Countess of Warwick was, having it delivered straight to their country estate where the king's wife and children were celebrating Christmas. 

"We need to send gifts for everyone, correct?" 

"Yes, but don't worry about it. I already had my assistant order everything," the alpha reassures. He pauses, his fingertips fixing a stray end of Yuuri's hair, brushing it out of the other man's eyes. "Have you experienced Christmas before?" 

"No. Never." 

"Not in Japan?" 

"No," Yuuri simply says. He leaves it at that. 

Viktor hums quietly, readjusting his arms around the omega. "Well, it will be an experience you won't forget."

* * *

The couple's return to St. Petersburg and the subsequent train station is met with little fanfare. Not a single protester nor sign is in sight as they hurry off the train with their bags and belongings, thick coats neatly wrapped around themselves with warm wool scarves. Viktor doesn't seem bothered by the cold. In fact, he looks as if he thrives upon the winter elements, his cheeks a hale blush amongst the white snow emitting a chill that would send Yuuri into a bone-deep shiver if it isn't for his layers of clothes. 

Tyotya Maria greets them in her home, ushering them in as she critically frets over Yuuri, who slowly pulls off his winter coat. Staring pointedly at her maid, she orders, "Get me the present. The one with the prince's name." 

The maid nods, curtseying slightly. 

Viktor unravels the scarf from his neck, throwing it gently over the back of an armchair in his mother's receiving room. "Mama, what have you done now?" 

"I have done nothing wrong," she insists, collecting a folded blanket from a cabinet and drawing it around the omega. "Here, you look far too cold for comfort. We don't want you to catch your death." 

The omega accepts the blanket, sitting down on the plush couch woven with gold thread and a floral motif composed of pink, gold, and white roses. He arranges the blanket around himself, settling down as he feels warmer with each second. He watches his mother-in-law pour a steaming cup of tea, setting out three porcelain cups. Then his mouth parts in surprise when Viktor bends down and taps his hand on Yuuri's shoe. 

"Let me help you take this off," Viktor whispers, seemingly unaware of his mother's curious gaze pressed against his back. His silver hair falls over his eyes as he gently loosens the shoestring with ease. 

Yuuri, enraptured and spellbound, ignores Tyotya Maria's call of his name, reaching out to prod a thin spot on the top of his husband's head. His fingers touch Viktor's hair, soft and silky. 

The sound emerging from his alpha's throat is not human. It's a strangled pitch that reminds Yuuri of a screaming rabbit with less fervor but no less horror and shock that startles the omega as Viktor sinks to the floor, his nose pressed against the dorsal of the omega's foot. He's thoroughly lost in that sound of grief, of soul-crushing sadness, even as Tyotya Maria laughs, throwing back a cup of steaming black tea and choking on the liquid. She discreetly recovers, dabbing a napkin at her lips. 

"Am I hideous? Is my bald spot so large?" Viktor asks, his words muffled into the wool sable rug. "I'm so old and decrepit." 

"You're twenty-seven," Yuuri remarks, shivering under the blanket. With his cold feet, he shamelessly pushes his half-frozen toes into his husband's hands, relieved by their warmth. He stares at his husband laying on the floor, lost. What should he do? Should he apologize? But Tyotya Maria is still laughing, her snickers and mouth muffled by a clever positioning of her napkin. 

"Old," his husband murmurs, the word barely audible as the rug absorbs the drawn-out syllable. "So old." 

"Vitya," Tyotya Maria starts, once she has her laughter under control. "You have plenty of years ahead of you. Now get up from the floor. The maids have yet to clean it. Your sister spent the whole night painting in that very spot. You know how careless she is with the paint bottles." 

"Olya is here?" He inquires, his attention briefly drawn away from the topic of his hair. 

"She went home already." 

"Oh." A pause. "Mama, am I old?" Returning to his vain concern, his husband pushes himself up from the ground and sequesters himself next to Yuuri. He beams when Yuuri lifts his feet and places them into his lap, soaking in the alpha's warmth. 

Yuuri resists a moan as Viktor's warm hands enveloped his feet, warming them so deliciously that it takes every bit of will to suppress his purrs. 

"Vitya, I have so many grandchildren. I'm the one who is old," she replies, shaking her head out of fond exasperation. Her eyes turn shrew, glancing speculatively between the new couple. "Am I expecting more grandchildren?" 

"Mama, we have only been married for two weeks. It's too soon," Viktor protests, accepting a cup of tea from his mother. He hands it over to the omega and whispers, "Here, drink up. It'll keep you warm." 

"Never too soon to start," she says, turning her head to the doorway. With a smile granted towards the butler dressed in a polished black suit, she grabs the box from his hands and thanks him, "You are wonderful, Borya." 

The butler inclines his head, leaving the trio be without a single word. 

The dowager empress sits back down, straightening the box on her lap. Quickly, she removes a vase of unfamiliar red and orange flowers from the table, setting it on the ground. "Originally, I plan to give this to Yura during the Christmas party, but I fear he needs it sooner than that. We don't want him to freeze to death." 

Viktor speaks before Yuuri could. "Mama, you didn't have to. I was about to take him shopping after he rested." 

Tyotya Maria lifts the dark blue winter coat out of the box. Passing a glare at her youngest son, she retorts, "He would have froze to death while you shopped. St. Petersburg’s winter is not kind to those who have never experienced its weather. I remember visiting Japan. Warm, fair weather. Lush and green." 

Recovering his manners, the omega manages, "Thank you, Tyotya Maria. I appreciate your gift." He holds his arms out, his fingers brushing against the wool. A closer inspection finds light brown animal fur on the inside. 

"Vitya killed that bear in Siberia. Sent me yet another piece of fur. I knew it was destined for Yura when he arrived in Russia," Tyotya Maria informs, gesturing to the coat. "Vitya doesn't hunt as much as he used to, but he's better at it than Nicky. He used to write to his French tutor about each successful hunt. It vexes the tutor so much, because that was all he would write about. He wrote to me, wondering if hunting was the only topic Vitya knew how to write in French or if he truly does spend every single day in the woods." 

"Mama, it has been years since I've gone hunting and my French is perfectly alright." 

"Hunting, now the army. Don't be too lost in your duties," she firmly states. "You might lose your target on what matters the most." 

Viktor turns to the omega, capturing his hand. Pressing a soft kiss on Yuuri's knuckle, he declares, "I doubt I ever could." 

These words leave Yuuri blushing, affecting his reddened cheeks better than any hot tea could. It's not as if he has never received a compliment before, but Viktor's words seem to affect him more powerfully than anyone else could. With his other hand, he hides his face behind the teacup, drinking in gulps of hot tea. 

Tyotya Maria merely smiles at that, moving onto another conversation topic. "Will you be staying long enough in St. Petersburg to see a ballet show?" 

* * *

_Yuuri learned that his husband usually falls asleep after coupling in his ruts, thoroughly knotting the omega and scenting every single gland, possessive pheromones thick in their honeymoon suite. Viktor never allowed Yuuri out of his sight, and his azure eyes, normally bright in the daylight, glimmered darkly with a primal sort of satisfaction whenever he pulled himself out of the omega, his seed dripping down Yuuri's thighs obscenely. The alpha liked to watch the omega's thighs quivering, his inner thighs painted white._

_His cousin's tutor once said that while an alpha might be primal on the first night, they would be uncontrollable in their ruts. But Viktor Alexandrovich defied this expectation, and through clearer moments at the break of dawn, he even managed to hold a conversation. Coherently. It came as a surprise to the omega._

_Yuuri was beginning to learn that Viktor Alexandrovich is full of never-ending surprises._

_With his knot locked inside of Yuuri, Viktor brushed away stray strands of sweaty black hair from the omega's face, the gesture tender and soft. "You converted."_

_"Huh?"_

_"You changed religions," the alpha clarified, as if he thought Yuuri misunderstood his words. "It must have been a sacrifice."_

_Yuuri didn't know how religious his new husband was, if he would be offended by the omega's lack of belief in anything spiritual or otherworldly, if he would take personal offense that Yuuri doesn't believe in a God nor fear the possibility of a God. So instead of uttering a word, he hums, neither denying or agreeing._

_"What was your name? Before you converted into Yuri Alekseevich?"_

_"Yuuri," he answered, watching the confusion spread across his husband's face._

_"Before you converted?"_

_"Yes." Yuuri couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, Yuuri."_

_"Yuuri," Viktor tried, his accent stretching out the vowels. "Yuuri." He laughed softly. "It's clever. It's similar enough to Yuri that you didn't need to do a drastic name change. Did you choose it?"_

_The process of selecting a new name was not hard on Yuuri. Alix, the Tsarina, changed her name to Alexandra. Viktor’s mother was Dagmar before she became Maria. One former Tsarina barely changed her name at all. In 1840, Princess Marie of Hesse and by Rhine became Maria Alexandrovna. She was Viktor’s paternal grandmother. Yuuri felt it was more convenient that way, and he was lucky there was a Grand Prince in the 12th century named Yuri. Phichit spent many days in the library, laboriously pouring time and effort to find a suitable name for conversion._

_"Yuri Alekseevich," Viktor tried, tasting the name on his lips, the words perfectly pronounced by his Russian tongue. "Yuuri. What does it mean in Japanese?"_

_"Courage."_

_"It suits you," he said, nodding at that. "You're brave to travel across the sea to marry a complete stranger as dictated by a treaty."_

_Yuuri wasn't sure if Viktor would call him brave if the alpha knew Yuuri wanted to place his son on the Russian throne, in command of one of the great European powers. How could he explain that he fully intended to bear Viktor an heir and spare and eventually remove the heir's competition? No, Viktor Alexandrovich would not take well to learn about the snake residing in his own bed. So he looked away from Viktor, as if shy, and murmured, "Thank you."_

_"In Russian, it's not as interesting. Yuri, the name. In English, it's George. The name means farmer."_

_Yuuri bristled at that thought. Farmer. He held nothing against farmers. It was simply that he had no interest in farming and hard labor, the sort of work that brings a man to his knees when he is young, too young to feel back pain. When he lived in Hasetsu and laid on the dirty floor while staring up at darkness, he quietly swore to himself that if he did not live a simple life of a farmer, he would be quite happy indeed. How ironic was it that Yuri, which is George, meant farmer out of all things._

_"If you don't mind, I will call you Yuuri," Viktor whispered, as if he noticed Yuuri's distaste towards the name. "Yuri doesn't fit you as well as Yuuri."_

_The omega nodded, but then he questioned, "Wouldn't that be a problem? Using my old name?"_

_"I doubt anyone would notice the difference between Yuri and Yuuri when spoken aloud. If they did, they wouldn't dare mention it."_

* * *

Wearing a deep blue dress befitting his station, Yuuri can't help but feel his stomach tingle in excitement and anticipation. The children's joy is contagious, and he moves with ease, a lighter step in his footfalls. His husband, citing Yuuri's lack of knowledge and experience regarding Christmas, banned him from participating in the preparations for the party. 

"I want you to experience Christmas without all the planning and shopping," Viktor explained, putting his foot down on this matter. "It's your first Christmas. You should see what it is like. Relax and enjoy yourself." 

So Yuuri has been holding court with the children on the other side of the closed double doors of the banquet hall. Tyotya Maria keeps him company, laughing at her grandchildren's antics and excitement. Little Alexei sleeps in the Tsarina's arms, seemingly unaware of anything in the world. 

"The duck was so good," says little Anastasia in English, clutching her belly. Short but also plump, she fiddles with her pink dress. "Mama, do you think we can have it tomorrow again?" 

The Tsarina nods, her eyes fixed upon Alexei. "Ask the cook politely. Do not tease her bad leg, and do not hide her cane." 

"But she walks so funny," the Grand Duchess huffs, ripping a pink ribbon out of her blonde hair. 

"You keep eating all of the chocolates, you will walk funny too," the Tsarina tensely replies, her eyes briefly glancing at her youngest daughter. "Why don't you go play with Nina?" 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

Referring to her cousin, the Grand Duchess folds her arms over herself and childishly pouts. "She's taller than me." 

Yuuri turns his attention elsewhere. He has heard all about Anastasia from Tyotya Maria. Rude, discourteous, and undisciplined. She is unlike her sisters, who are far more studious and respectful. Tyotya Maria despairs over her. 

"So Uncle Yuri," one of the children says. A girl, about seven years old, with mousy brown hair, dressed in a fine white dress. "What do Japanese people eat for dinner? Papa said they have food that is nothing like what they have in Russia." 

"Well," Yuuri pauses, sinking back into his memories. "Rice is a staple food in our cuisine, but I enjoy miso soup." 

"What is miso soup?" 

"Miso is a seasoning," he patiently explains, wishing that he has a picture or the actual miso soup nearby to better explain what it is. "It's made from soybeans, salt, and koji." 

"Oh." She looks elsewhere, clearly bored and uninterested by the explanation. It's too difficult for Yuuri to describe a soup when that person has never seen it before. 

A bell rings, and all the conversations dull to silence as every eye turns to the double doors, as if spellbound by what lies beyond it. The children vibrate in anticipation, pressing closer despite the numerous cossacks blocking their path. The Tsarina steps forward with Alexei, and the cossacks allow her to pass through them, one guard opening the door for her. 

Yuuri watches her move with curiosity. 

"Cossacks," Morooka once explained, his face stoic as if made out of fire-forged iron, tougher than any marble statue. "They're something the people here call Slavic. But they also are a military class. Russia's version of knights and samurai. The ones working for the Tsar are loyal to the throne, and I believe when Russians are talking about cossacks, they are always referring to them as a military force. They are not the same as the First Army." 

"Can we go in yet?" A child whispers excitedly in Russian, shaking out of eagerness. "I want to see what I got!" 

Then the grand double doors open. 

Reminding Yuuri of a swarm of bees, the children forget their manners and rush in, clamoring loudly. The omega steps through the doors, slowly following them. He takes in the decorated banquet hall, awed by thousands of burning candles and dozens and dozens of vibrant, green trees laced with silver toys and fruits. Each tree is accompanied by a round table covered with white tablecloth and gifts. His mouth drops in surprise at the scene, shocked by how beautiful Christmas looks. 

"Merry Christmas, Yuri Alekseevich," says a woman's voice. 

Yuuri spins around, finding a pale woman with dark blonde hair. She stands tall, her chin raised. She bears a slight resemblance to Viktor, and he replies, uncertain, "Xenia Alexandrovna?" 

"Nyet," she laughs. Then in English, she introduces herself, "I'm Olga Alexandrovna, the nicer one of the two sisters. Xenia Alexandrovna is in Crimea, because she believes it's unsafe for her to travel north." A pause as she squints her eyes. "Looks like Mama is back to arguing with Auntie Miechen."

The omega turns his head, finding Tyotya Maria engaged in a harsh conversation with a tall woman, her light brown hair tied upwards in an elaborate style with no shortage of pearls adorning her neck. Then he swivels his head back to his sister-in-law. "It is nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you as well," she smoothly replies, nodding with her lips curled upwards. Then she smiles widely, genuinely happy. "Vitya! Merry Christmas!"

His husband, looking quite fetching in a sable evening suit, hugs his sister. "It's been a while since I've seen you." 

"I did attend the wedding," she converses in Russian, drawing away from Yuuri. "It was not that long ago. I wanted to give you and your husband a gift." 

"You didn't have to." 

"I did. It's under your tree. Your table was already quite full when I arrived. Did you get anything for Nicky?" 

"I'm not going to tell you what it is. But do you see his table?" 

"Yes." 

"It's the box wrapped in gold. I hope he doesn't open it in front of his children. I don't think Alexandra Feodorovna would like it either. I told him to wait until after the party to open it." 

She gasps, almost as if scandalized. "What kind of gift did you send him?" 

"Something he should have, especially in these turbulent times," Viktor replies, not answering her questions. "Now excuse me. I've been neglecting my husband all night." 

"Of course." 

With that, Viktor moves to stand at Yuuri's side, his eyes briefly roaming over the omega's body. "You look beautiful, zolotse," he purrs in English, every word sincere. "How do you like Christmas so far?" 

"I've never seen a celebration like this in Japan," Yuuri answers. It's true. He has never seen Christmas in Japan with thousands of unique pieces of decoration and figurines nor has he seen a celebration involving much gift-giving. But everyone seems happy, especially the children. Each child is presented with a gift box of fresh fruit. Two tangerines, two oranges for each child with a surprise bag of chocolates from France. 

"Let me take you to your tree." Viktor's hand grasps the omega's with ease, tugging Yuuri towards the side and away from the Tsar's family. "My tree is right next to yours." Then he stops, pausing in front of a decorated tree. "There, what do you think of it?" 

Extravagant. It's the first word that comes to Yuuri's mind. Someone, perhaps a member of the Tsar's staff, has spent time decorating the tree with lights, toys, and ornaments. It seems wasteful, but Yuuri is beginning to understand that it's part of the Russian court. Extravagance, beauty, and wealth. Japan, in terms of jewels and precious earthly materials, pales in comparison. If one has so much wealth, why not flaunt it, rubbing diamonds and rubies in the faces of the less fortunate? 

Viktor, who carries none of Yuuri's thoughts, retrieves a box from the table. With flushed cheeks, he whispers, "This is my gift to you. One of the two." 

Yuuri weighs it in his palms and then opens it, uncertain of what he will find. It's something light, and when he pushes away the wrapping paper, he discovers a knitted dark blue scarf made out of wool yarn. It's not perfect. There are clear and visible flaws with a loose end that will need to be fixed, but it's something he can use. It's something practical, and he appreciates the gift, wrapping the scarf around his neck. It carries brief notes of Viktor's scent, smelling like citrus. "Did you make this?" 

"Yes," Viktor acknowledges, seemingly surprised that Yuuri picked up that detail. His cheeks redden. "It's not as good as the ones in the shops, but I hope you like it. Mama and Papa always encouraged us to create gifts from our own hands. Sometimes, we use pocket money." 

Running his fingertip down the scarf, Yuuri realizes that he has seen his husband working on this creation. He sometimes sneakily knit before dinner, putting in a few extra inches. Yuuri has been wondering why Viktor has been pretending to read while fiddling with something under the book, but he’s never bothered to ascertain the true reason. He raises an eyebrow. "One out of two gifts? But I did not buy you anything or create a gift for you." 

"You are enough." A pause as Viktor reassures, "Besides, it is your first Christmas where you are learning the customs. Next year, you may show us what you've learned. And don't worry, I'll be here to help." 

"Vitya, Vitya, you must not keep your lovely spouse away from everyone else. He's too beautiful to be kept in the corner," boisterously laughs a young man, speaking in Russian. He's tall, matching Viktor's height and sporting dark brown hair with thick eyebrows. "You must watch the lottery at the very least. Such a joy to see all those happy faces." 

"Mitya," Viktor sighs, exasperated. He switches to English, his fingers squeezing the omega's. "This is Yuura's first Christmas. I thought it would be best for him to take it slow, so he could savor the holiday. Yuura, this is my cousin, Dimitri Pavlovich. He's almost fifteen years old." 

"Wow," Yuuri remarks, relaxing slightly. He's merely a boy, his head caught up in the discovery of omegas. A boy, playing a man yet not realizing he has much to grow before he could become one. "You look older than your actual age." 

"He grew tall. Nicky is worried he might grow too tall. Where's your friend, Felix?" 

"He thinks he can win the game of cards against Ioannchik. He has wagered ten pieces of French chocolate." The teenager points in a direction, his finger directed to a swarm of people. 

"Ah, then he should be prepared to lose. That boy will do anything for chocolate," Viktor says. "I think I see Olya. We better keep her company." He quickly tugs Yuuri into the crowd. Olga is nowhere in sight. Murmuring quietly as he slips them by the refreshment table, he states, "I must apologize for my cousin. He has been spending too much time with Felix, who is flamboyant and far too free with himself. I think he must have taken after the older boy." 

"It's alright. He's young, and he has much to learn." 

"Yes," Viktor agrees, snagging a flute of champagne. He offers one to Yuuri, who shakes his head. "Water?" 

The omega nods, thankful. "I'm parched." As soon as he utters those words, he finds a glass in his free hand. He sips from the cup, the coolness of the liquid refreshing his tongue. "Thank you." 

Having taken a small sip, Viktor sets down the flute of champagne, a smile drawing his eyes. "Nikolai Nikolaevich," he calls out in Russian. "I thought you would have fallen asleep by now." 

"That was last year," gruffly replies a tall man, appearing to be in his forties with graying temples. He's remarkably tall, overlooking everyone in the banquet hall. He smiles warmly at Yuuri. "This must be the Japanese prince." 

"Yuri Alekseevich," Viktor says, gesturing to the omega. Pointing to the other man, he informs in English, "Yuura, this is also my cousin, Nikolai Nikolaevich. You can call him Nikolai the Tall." 

Puzzled by the name, Yuuri rhetorically inquires, "Is there a Nikolai the Short?" 

"Yes. He's right there," his alpha answers, pointing to the Tsar giving out gifts of clocks and other assortments to his staff. "Nicky the Short. Very short in comparison to Nikolasha." 

The omega can't help but laugh at the obvious comparison. Nikolai the Short fits the Tsar perfectly like a well-made glove. 

"Yuura, please ignore us one moment. I must talk about work," he implores. Then switching to Russian, he asks, "Nikolasha, do you know if the situation in Moscow has been fully contained?" 

"Vitya," Nikolai Nikolaevich protests. "This is not the time for this." 

"I heard that we did not deploy the Moscow garrison, because we were worried they may mutiny. So is the situation in Moscow contained?" 

"They stopped protesting a few days ago," the other man admits, huffing in exasperation. "It does not appear they will return for another riot. Vitya, do not worry about this. It's Christmas. Smile, we're celebrating." 

Looking relieved by the news, Viktor nods. "I'm sorry. I was worried when we left Moscow. I don't want my husband to know about the strike and worry about the violence while we were on our honeymoon, so I tried to keep us away from any news of it at the price of my ignorance. I worried that Moscow might have blown up in flames while we were in St. Petersburg." 

Nikolai Nikolaevich laughs. “We’re stronger than some fire. Vitya, you should go see Uncle Alexei before he leaves for Paris, if you want some ideas for the military. He wants the military to consider incorporating motorized aircrafts and buy better submarines.” 

“He is right on that. Horses have no place in war anymore,” Viktor pauses, shaking his head. “Such a shame he was removed from his post.” 

“Yes,” the other man agrees, sipping from his glass. “He has vision.” 

As Nikolai Nikolaevich walks away to hold a discussion with Tyotya Maria, Yuuri speculatively glances between Viktor and the other man. He's beginning to discover his alpha is quite considerate by not telling the omega about the protests and riots, defying Yuuri's own expectations. Misguidedly considerate.

Yuuri already knew about it.

* * *

_Without a greeting, Morooka sat down in the least used armchair, careful to not make a single sound. Viktor, though he was sound asleep in the bathtub, may notice Morooka's appearance in their parlour. He folded his hands over his lap and neutrally informed in Japanese, "There is a general strike in Moscow. Factories have been shut down, many people are not working. They’re out in the streets."_

_"You certain?"_

_"I was there. It's not good. Chaotic and bloody. A few deaths were reported, and I believe they were protesters, not Tsarist soldiers. Some of the rioters were sent to Siberia and imprisoned, and according to the word on the street, there were a few executions." Morooka pulled out a pamphlet written in Cyrillic. He slid it across the table, avoiding the bronze vase of flowers handpicked by the palace's gardeners. It stopped a finger-width from the edge of falling. "You should read this. Then burn it. The secret police do not want people to be reading this material."_

_Yuuri picked it up, smoothing out the wrinkles. "What is this. . ." He stumbled over the translation, unable to find a close word in Japanese. In English, he muttered, "Social-Democratic Workers' Party?"_

_In Japanese, Morooka solemnly answered, "It's a rallying cry to everyone in Moscow. An urge to join the revolt. Last thing I heard about the riots was that the railway stations were in the rebel's control, but they are currently met by Russian military forces. Do you have any requests for me?"_

_"Who are the rebels?"_

_Morooka nodded, carefully taking his time to formulate an informative response. "They are not one group. There are many groups with divisions as far as I can tell. Each one has their own methods and ideals. They all agree that the government run by the Tsar is unacceptable, especially when the people are feeling the strain left by our war with them. One group has written that booklet, the same one in your hands. It's the loudest group, clamoring for an overthrow of the Tsarist government. Abolish the monarchy like what France did."_

_Yuuri sighed. He was nowhere close to the Russian throne, and already, there were people who wanted to overturn the Russian order. "Find out more about these groups. Keep me informed."_

_"Yes," Morooka agreed. "There is one more thing."_

_"Yes?"_

_"The rebels take their ideas from a book. It's called_ The Communist Manifesto, _written by Karl Marx. It's banned by the Tsarist government."_

* * *

Yawning behind his hand, Yuuri slips underneath the sheets, shivering in the cold bed. He burrows himself, trying to gather enough heat to keep himself warm. Once Viktor dives underneath the covers, Yuuri's limbs wrap around his alpha, tight like the limbs of an octopus. His husband is warm, always so warm. 

Viktor accepts Yuuri's cold feet, allowing the omega to abuse his bare ankles to warm himself. "You need thicker socks," he murmurs. "I will go out tomorrow to buy some for you. Better shoes, too." 

The omega couldn't even manage a protest. He knows he needs better socks. The pair he wears are the same ones he brought from Japan. 

"I have not forgotten my second gift to you," Viktor whispers, bending his back to reach into the wooden commode. He pulls open the drawer, fetching a small velvet-covered jewelry box. "This is for you." 

"You didn't have to," the omega instantly says, though he does not reject the gift. He eyes it, curiosity tickling his thoughts. The box is far too large for a ring, but it's too small for a necklace. A bracelet? 

Viktor adjusts his arms, lifting the lid with his smallest finger, careful with the delicate gold clasp. "This once belonged to my grandmother." 

Yuuri's suspicions are correct. It is a bracelet, glimmering in the light provided by the electric bulbs. Dangling from the bracelet like leaves on a branch are identical diamonds, all of them flawless and winking. No small amount of extravagance, and it's the insincerity of the bracelet that makes Yuuri double-take. 

It's not that his alpha is insincere by giving Yuuri this expensive gift, but the bracelet pales in comparison to the blue scarf, almost plain and simple with a floral pattern at the end and a loose thread at the other arm. But the scarf came from Viktor's heart, he spent precious time and effort creating the gift that will keep Yuuri warm for many winter nights. 

"You don't like it." 

"I do like it," Yuuri insists, offering a small smile. "I am only speechless." 

"You don't like jewelry?" Viktor presses on, setting the bracelet on the commode. His arms wrap themselves around Yuuri, his nose bumping against the omega's cheek as they share the same breath, slow and hot between them. 

Diplomatically, the omega answers, "I prefer not to wear jewelry. I'm constantly afraid that I will lose something valuable." 

"The bracelet is still yours," Viktor whispers, after a moment. "It's yours now." 

Yuuri stays silent. He will accept the bracelet. He's not a fool. Diamonds on that bracelet will always fetch a handsome price in the best and worst of times, in war or peace. It's a form of hard currency that will be accepted as payment even as the value of one rouble tumbles into worthlessness. He may need the jewels one day. He lets out a sigh, suddenly so weary after spending a night attending a Christmas party. 

He has much to think about. 

"I'm sorry." 

Yuuri is shaken out of his thoughts. "What are you sorry about?" 

"Leaving for Gatchina in two days. Leaving you for a month to oversee training. I wish I had more time," he says, his words brushing Yuuri's ear. "It's too soon to be separated from you." 

It's a pretty thought Viktor voices. But it's a reality Yuuri knows that will happen over and over again. He softly inquires, "What would happen if you don't attend training?" 

"Oh, I imagine the soldiers would be quite skilled at marching in a parade but hopeless at war," the alpha answers with a casual quality that surprises Yuuri. 

“What did you give to your brother?” the omega asks, remembering the odd conversation he shared with Olga Alexandrovna, where Viktor refused to admit what he gave to the Tsar. From the way Olga Alexandrovna was acting, Yuuri thought it might have been something scandalous of a sexual nature, something like a titillating piece of artwork. 

Brushing the strands of hair out of Yuuri’s eyes, Viktor lets out a sigh. “A handgun made by Colt's Patent Firearms Manufacturing Company. It was updated two years ago to improve accuracy, and I thought Nicky might appreciate it. It’s a revolver, meant to be a sidearm.” 

An American gun. 

Yuuri wonders, “Why would he appreciate it?” 

“Sometimes, he goes hunting. I thought it would be wise to give him a gun he doesn’t have.” He makes no mention of the unrest in Russia nor admits that he gifted the Tsar the gun for his brother’s protection. “He has a small collection.”

* * *

The morning before Viktor leaves for Gatchina, he takes Yuuri into his study room and says, "I want to show you your accounts." 

"Accounts?" Why would Yuuri need an account and what kind of account is his husband even talking about? 

"You may need to purchase clothes, treats, or whatever your heart desires." He slides a small booklet across the desk, the neat pages bound by polished leather. "You will find the details of our joint bank account, which currently possesses five hundred thousand roubles and spare change, and you will also find your personal account." 

Yuuri freezes. Did his husband somehow find the account of emergency funds the Emperor’s staff set up for him? 

"It currently holds fifty thousand roubles. There will be a deposit of four thousand and two hundred roubles on the second day of each month. All I request is that you do not overdraw the account. You're free to do what you wish. You may buy extra socks or hire carpenters to decorate our rooms. You can take out all the money and set it on fire every month." 

Yuuri can't help the laugh bubbling out through his nose. "I'm not going to set it on fire." 

Viktor lifts his chin, his azure eyes piercing the omega. With all sincerity, he reiterates, “But the money is yours. You do what you like. I will not lift a finger to stop you.”

* * *

The moment Viktor leaves for Gatchina, Yuuri swears that hundreds of guests and Viktor’s family members come out of the shadows to see the new Japanese bride, curiosity piqued by the Oriental mystery as they pretend to be visiting Tyotya Maria. Perhaps they’d not seen enough of him at the Winter Palace. Maybe they have never seen an Oriental face and wish to gaze upon the omega’s to compare the differences between Yuuri’s and theirs. 

However, some of them are not without their manners. 

Some. 

Grand Duke Boris Vladimirovich silently stares at Yuuri, and the omega suspects he could have stared at him for longer if it wasn’t for Tyotya Maria interfering. He’s dressed in his nicest military uniform with medals dangling from his chest and shoulders. A thick mustache rests on his upper lip and moves only when he speaks. It’s not the behavior Yuuri expected from the Grand Duke, who is Viktor’s first cousin. 

In the very same drawing room they’re currently sitting in, Tyotya Maria sipped from her tea cup, shaking her head. Two hours ago, she advised, “Borya is troubled. Do not be offended by what he says. He loved many omegas, and he has no shame in openly flirting with married omegas. He loves to gamble and drink, so do take care of yourself around him.” A pause as she revealed, “He once had a big debt. Half a million roubles. It took him a long time to get out of that predicament.” 

Though he speaks English and does not need Phichit’s help with translations, Boris Vladimirovich does not address Yuuri at all. He discusses the weather after much prompting from Tyotya Maria, gruffly commenting on the winter’s chill. “Yes,” he agrees, nodding at Tyotya Maria’s assessment. “It is colder than last year’s winter, but Russia is always cold. It could be unwelcoming to foreigners.” 

As soon as Boris Vladimirovich drives away in his automobile and disappears from the view of the drawing room’s window, Tyotya Maria turns her head to the omega and apologizes, “I’m sorry, Yura.” 

“What for?” 

“His behavior,” she answers, emptying the man’s untouched teacup and plate of pastries. “I did not expect him to act so callous.” She shuts her eyes tightly, wrinkles appearing at her temples. “He was at Port Arthur. Borya did not suffer as much as Kiryukha did, but he still remembers that day.” 

Yuuri says nothing. How could he? The Battle of Port Arthur began on February 8 in 1904 when a squadron belonging to the Imperial Japanese Navy preemptively attacked the port held by the Russians. It started over a disagreement over who had the full rights to use the port. By the end of the battle, Japan declared a decisive victory. Across the Sea of Japan, Russia declared a decisive victory. To the rest of the world, the Battle of Port Arthur ended indecisively with no clear winner. 

The Russo-Japanese War may have ended in a stalemate, but to the Russians, they have lost the war to an inferior opponent. The Japanese people, on the other hand, saw the war as a victory despite the severe losses, celebrating the fact they held their own against a superior military force. 

Tyotya Maria quickly changes the subject, brightening. “Olya is coming for a late breakfast tomorrow. I think you will like her. She is my youngest daughter." 

Breakfast with Olga Alexandrovna, who Yuuri has already met at the Christmas party, is uneventful. But it’s the startling entrance of Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna, sister-in-law of Tyotya Maria, that makes Boris Vladimirovich’s attitude towards Yuuri appear welcoming and heartfelt. Maria Pavlovna, whom Boris Vladimirovich calls mother, is a proud lady with rigid posture and lavish jewels adorning her neck, fingers, and wrists, boasting her wealth. Tyotya Maria receives her in the drawing room, the air cold and frigid between them as if a maid accidentally left a window open. 

“Miechen,” Tyotya Maria says in English, smiling bitterly. She pours their uninvited guest some hot English tea. “I saw your photograph in the papers. Trying to pass off the tiara as new?” 

With not a single strand of her light brown hair out of place, Maria Pavlovna returns the same bitter smile, cold and unflinching as her icy blue eyes peer over her teacup. “Oh, Masha. The rumors were truly unfair to me. They thought I would have dared to sell my great-grandmother’s jewels. I had to prove them wrong.” To Yuuri, she clarifies, “They belonged to Catherine the Great.” 

Tyotya Maria breathes in a sip of her tea, almost appearing as if she wished for something stronger like a bottle of cyanide. She instantly dismisses, “Everyone owns jewels once belonging to Catherine, who is the grandmother of all. She had a large collection inherited from Elizabeth Petrovna. Crowns, necklaces, tiaras, but what she didn’t have are Fabergé eggs. They’re splendid, and I hope Vitya gives Yura one for Easter. It’s tradition.” 

“A tradition that did not occur this year or last year,” Maria Pavlovna retorts, her pointed nose lifted upwards. “Such a shame with the war business. Nicky couldn’t give a magnificent gift to his dear mother or wife. We must hope that Vitya could succeed where his brother failed.” 

“In times of war, gifts matter little. We must hope that the spirit of Russia that was curated by Catherine and Peter continues. We can not focus on the small details, lest we find ourselves falling into ruins,” Tyotya Maria parries, setting down her tea cup. 

“Russia has survived for hundreds of years, and it’s shameful to have such little confidence in Russia as a whole,” the other woman responds. With a hungry glint of her eye, she adds, “But of course, Nicky may not be the most competent of leaders. He does not meet his father’s standards.” 

“Nicky is trying his best. He is still learning, and his father did not know everything about Russia on the first day. It took him years to understand how to manage Russia.” 

“Eleven years for studying with poor results suggests the student may not be the sharpest out of all the peers. But it's such a blessing that divine intervention brought Nicky on the throne. Who knows where he would be without it?" She laughs, her fingers curled around the teacup. 

"We don't have to wonder. There's no point in imagining a Russia where Nicky isn't the Tsar." She stares piercingly at her sister-in-law, who matches her gaze. 

The omega sits quietly in the armchair, clutching his teacup between his palms, as his head whips back and forth, watching a verbal tennis match play out with no decisive winners and two sour, spiteful participants.

* * *

His cousin's tutor remained adamant throughout her lecture that alphas will always find comfort whether in the arms of their lawful mates or nighttime lovers. There will be periods of time where the omega will be separated from their alpha. This is one lesson that Yuuri discovers to be true. It's odd to wake up in the large bed alone, Viktor's side cold and untouched. 

In the depths of his heart, he hopes that Viktor will find his bed cold as well. The thoughts of his alpha finding another in Gatchina sends his pulse racing and his ears hot in rage that the chillest day in St. Petersburg will not be cold enough to freeze the fiery heat of his anger. He tells himself that he is merely aware of how bad Viktor's potential infidelity will look on him. All the blame will lie at the omega's feet and none at the alpha's. Infidelity is a sign that the omega couldn't keep an alpha wandering through the fields of budding flowers. 

A month quickly passes by, Yuuri eagerly counting down the days until his heat. Viktor, once notified by telephone of Yuuri's heat, will come immediately from Gatchina, driving one of his automobiles. 

But no heat comes as the days slip deeper and deeper into February, and Yuuri is no fool when he dials the number for Gatchina's training camp and asks for his husband. 

"Yuuri, has the heat arrived?" Viktor asks, his words coming out in a rush. They've been exchanging letters, but nothing beats hearing Viktor's voice, even if his alpha is far away. 

"No. I missed my heat." 

"Yuuri, you mean. . ." 

"I'm pregnant." And it's Viktor's, Yuuri adds silently. It may be the heir, the male alpha, he's been looking for. 

* * *

Once a small bump has formed in his abdomen by the end of March, Yuuri knows that this pregnancy is here to stay. It's possible but not likely he will lose the baby. Tyotya Maria is the second to know about the development, his parents and sister being the third. With cautious optimism, his mother-in-law begins making preparations and buying blankets and furniture for the baby. Noticing Yuuri's dejected attitude, she says, "I know you've not been doing very well in St. Petersburg." 

Yuuri lifts his head from his book, surprised that his mother-in-law noticed. "St. Petersburg is alright." 

She smiles, placing a feather in her journal. "Yura, not everyone notices that you dislike meeting guests and I agree. It becomes quite tiresome easily, and being weary is not an acceptable condition for an expecting omega. I think it is time that you and Vitya consider moving to Kiev before the pregnancy advances to its late stages. It'll be quieter, and there will be less people to bother you." 

In a letter to his husband, Yuuri forwards Tyotya Maria's suggestion, wondering if a move to Kiev would brighten his spirits. They make no decisions on whether they will leave or stay in St. Petersburg.

* * *

One chilly morning in April, Yuuri finds Tyotya Maria dressed in a fine black winter coat with matching gloves. The omega himself wears bundles of clothing, still unused to the cold weather. The scarf Viktor has given him for Christmas snugly wraps around Yuuri's neck, keeping the omega warm. 

A carriage drawn by two horses delivers them to the first steps of Tauride Palace, another grand palace in the line of palaces. Yuuri is beginning to suspect that the Russian Empire has no small shortage of palaces and extravagant taste. Tyotya Maria remains silent throughout the ride, but Phichit fills in the silence, excitedly explaining the architecture to the omega. 

"It was built in 1783, designed by an architect named Ivan Starov. It remained as a model for other palaces in Russia. The prince who commissioned this palace threw fabulous parties in an attempt to gain Empress Catherine's attention," the Thai man explains, vibrantly eagerly in his seat as he glances out through the window. He sharply frowns. "I suppose not everyone is happy about the Duma." 

Escorted by Russian and Japanese guards alike, they step off the carriage and walk into the Tauride Palace, eyes of ordinary people on them. Though they look upon Tyotya Maria with curiosity, their gaze is filled with resentment and anger when directed towards Yuuri. Of course, it doesn't take much pondering from the omega to deduce the reason behind the harsh expressions. 

The wounds left by Japan, though neither nation won the war, are still felt hard by the Russians. Though the Russians do not know how much of an influence the omega wielded over the Japanese military forces, they see him as an enemy, the evil backwards yellow people who nearly defeated an European power. It's a miracle that Viktor Alexandrovich seemingly does not possess the same prejudices. 

It would take Yuuri a long time to get them to forget the war and their losses, and there's a chance that they still wouldn't forgive him for Japan's sins. He knows he can't hide from the Russian people forever if he wants to seize control over its throne. Besides, there is a probability they will not accept the legitimate rule of a half-Russian, half-Japanese Tsar by the time Yuuri's son takes the throne. No, Yuuri must clear their way to the crown by any means necessary and he needs allies. 

"I only wish Vitya could be here," Tyotya Maria muses in English, sitting down in her seat. She straightens, running her eyes over the bodies of the Duma, the five hundred deputies murmuring softly. "But he is firm that he oversees the formations." 

Yuuri sits down in his seat, finding the chair surprisingly soft and completed with a velvet finish. He glances around, the view at the front quite excellent once he slips on his spectacles. He can see the Tsar's men gathering around at the front, but he can also count the heads of all the representatives and the vast diversity expressed by each member. Next to a well-dressed military officer with medals adorning his chest is a shabby young peasant wearing a long black coat. And in the very back are the members of the press. 

Sitting at the omega's right, Phichit has his own chair. Tasked with translating on Yuuri's behalf, he leans forward and remarks in Japanese, "They don't look too happy." 

It's true. The representatives are not happy as they occasionally frown at the Tsar and his wife, looking hostile at some moments The omega glances back and forth between the two, his eyes narrowing in thought. It's interesting, Yuuri muses. They hate Yuuri, because he is Japanese. But they also hate the Tsar and his wife for their own reasons. 

Order is called, and the Tsar begins his opening speech. 

Whispering as he reads off a slip of paper handed to him by Takeshi, Phichit says in Japanese, "They're not happy, because before Nikolai opened the first Duma, he passed the Fundamental Laws." 

"What is that?" He inquires, his Japanese syllables uttered as softly as possible. 

"It's long, but the most important part of it is that the Tsar's ministers could not be appointed by the Duma nor could they listen to the Duma. The law officially supports the October Manifesto while upholding the Tsar's rule as supreme. He could also dissolve the Duma at any time," the Thai replies. 

Yuuri deeply inhales, shocked by the obvious power grab. No wonder why the Duma hates the Tsar. The Fundamental Laws go against everything the Tsar had promised last year.

* * *

_Allowed into the parlor by Yuuko, Morooka bowed deeply to the prince, his head inclining in respect. It was a warm October day, warmer than most St. Petersburg days. A thick grey wool shawl was enough to keep the omega comfortable next to the flickering fireplace. Hisashi Morooka glanced briefly around the room, as if to search for prying eyes and listening ears. Finding none, he retrieved a cutout from a Russian newspaper from his winter coat and passed it over to the prince. “I believe you will find this interesting.”_

_Yuuri read the first line, quickly translating it into Japanese as he read aloud. “The Manifesto on the Improvement of the State Order.” It was a short article, but it was everything the Tsarina and the Tsar didn’t want Yuuri to know. The staff at the Alexander Palace were tasked to cultivate the appearance that Imperial Russia was a safe, stable, and wonderful empire where everyone loved the Tsar, as if no one called him Nikolai the Bloody._

> “We, Nicholas II, By the Grace of God Emperor and Autocrat of all Russia, King of Poland, Grand Duke of Finland, etc., proclaim to all Our loyal subjects:
> 
> Rioting and disturbances in the capitals and in many localities of Our Empire fill Our heart with great and heavy grief. The well-being of the Russian Sovereign is inseparable from the well-being of the nation, and the nation's sorrow is his sorrow. The disturbances that have taken place may cause grave tension in the nation and may threaten the integrity and unity of Our state. . .” 

_Morooka stood straight, his back rigid as if made out of marble. He waited patiently for Yuuri to read through the October Manifesto once and then twice, awaiting further instructions._

_“Was there any response from the protestors?” Yuuri inquired in Japanese. “Did they have an answer to this declaration?”_

_“They seem cautiously optimistic,” the Japanese alpha answered._

_The omega nodded, waving the slip of paper at the other man. “Do you need this?”_

_“No. I have more copies.”_

_Yuuri nodded again. “You’re dismissed.”_

_With that, Morooka took his leave, not even accepting the cup of tea Yuuko laid out for him. He slipped on his shoes and left without a sound, not even a slam from the door._

_The omega stared at the October Manifesto. Once, then twice. Then he stood up to grab his journal from the window sill, opening up to a random page as he began to write in flowing kanji. To the best of his translation abilities, which was third to Morooka and Phichit’s skills, he transcribed the Russian into Japanese. He paused over the first point._

> “To grant to the population the essential foundations of civil freedom, based on the principles of genuine inviolability of the person, freedom of conscience, speech, assembly and association.”

_Then Yuuri continued, glancing over to the clock and realizing he will soon be late for dinner with the Tsar’s family. Once finished with a complete Japanese translation, he set aside his journal and hid it underneath the plush sofa. He gave one last look at the printed October Manifesto before dropping it into the fireplace, where it met its fate to flames._

* * *

Tyotya Maria seems unhappier and unhappier as the day drags forward. Though Yuuri keeps his eye on the Duma and its proceedings, he can't help but note his mother-in-law's behavior. He can smell the notes of disappointment in her scent as the Tsar rejects one proposal after the other. It seems that she is not ignorant of the instability in Russia's foundation. 

Finally, the assembly draws to a close and Yuuri's nose wrinkles at the stench of the masses, the deep-seated tangs of anger and sourness. No one, except for the Tsar and his men, is happy today.

And what is the use of the October Manifesto, promising increased civil liberties to the people and less power from the autocratic Tsar, when the Tsar has the final say in what laws could be passed? 

"Ah, Your Imperial Highness," a man says in Russian, walking to stand in front of the dowager empress. He gives her a small bow, punctual. His hair is a mess of white and grey, and he appears to be in his fifties. "It's a pleasure to see you." 

"Sergei Yulyevich," Tyotya Maria acknowledges in Russian, tensely smiling back. "I hope your day was well." 

"Not that well, I'm afraid." His eyes flicker to the omega, squinting. "This is the Japanese prince, correct?" 

"Yes. Meet Yuri Alekseevich, my son-in-law. He also has his translator here," the dowager empress says, her hand gesturing to Yuuri. She ignores Phichit rapidly translating their words into Japanese. 

In Japanese, the omega states, "Good evening, it's nice to meet you." 

"Sergei Witte," he introduces himself, a hand clasping at his heart. With that, he returns his attention to the dowager empress. "I see Viktor Alexandrovich is not present." 

Tyotya Maria nods. "Unfortunately, he is attending his duties in Gatchina. I don't think he will have the interest to attend a Duma assembly. If ever." 

There seems to be a shared look between the man and the dowager empress. 

"Have a nice day, Your Imperial Highness." 

With that, Tyotya Maria turns to Yuuri. In English, she asks, rising from her seat, "Hungry? We should return home soon. It's best not to keep the babe waiting for dinner." 

"Very hungry." But despite how famished he is, he can't help but glance speculatively one more time at Sergei Witte, who is the current Russian Prime Minister and in deep conversation with his fellow politicians.

* * *

With Yuuri's bump not getting smaller, Viktor agreed to postpone his military duties to prepare for a move to Kiev. The couple packs their clothes and gifts. The omega takes extra time to count every piece of jewelry Viktor's family gifted him. He may dislike them on a personal basis, but he's not a fool to throw them away. Viktor's staff will be moving by train as well as Yuuri's guards and servants. 

When they are reunited at the train station in St. Petersburg, Viktor Alexandrovich rushes to the omega's side, as if they've been separated for years rather than merely hours ago when Viktor helped Yuuri pack away some of the omega's heavier suitcases. "I think you will like Kiev." 

Yuuri doesn't have any words to utter, having never visited Kiev or that corner of the world. Once he sits down in a comfortable chair, he softly inquires, "Is it quieter there?" 

"Much quieter. Less people to visit us. I don't have many cousins or siblings in Kiev. Maybe none in Kiev." 

The omega laughs. It's clear that his husband picked up his dislike of needing to entertain guests. Perhaps he will like Kiev. And with luck, Kiev may be the place where Yuuri can forge a haven for his heir, a safe place he couldn't find in St. Petersburg. 

"Mariyinsky Palace," Viktor says, glancing out at the window to watch the dark shadows of St. Petersburg fading away behind them. "Here we come."


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _stares forlornly at chapter count._
> 
> this is fine

"Surely there is a school in Kiev. One for beginners," Yuuri says, peering at his husband. Two weeks into their stay at a grand palace in Kiev, Viktor has thoughtfully hired a personal tutor to help Yuuri learn Russian. "I do not like this tutor, and I feel that he belittles me." 

That instantly draws Viktor to a pause, a stop to his insistence that Yuuri gives this tutor a few chances. He narrows his eyes. "Did he insult you?" 

"No, nothing like that. He was highly respectful in English, but he seemed off somehow. I don't like him, and I don't want our child to be tutored by him one day," Yuuri insists, leaning forward in his chair. He sets down his spoon, his bowl of soup temporarily forgotten. He glances away, as if shy. "Besides, I would like to learn Russian like everyone else. Where no one understands English, and I'm forced to immerse myself in Russian. The teacher you hired is acceptable, but he relies too much on English to teach me. Do you understand?" 

It's not that Yuuri dislikes the tutor. It's that he  _ must  _ establish himself in Kiev. He will not be a ghost, only remembered sparingly. 

Viktor nods, apprehensive. He sets down his fork and sighs. "If you wish to learn among the children, then I will not stop you. All I ask is that you bring a number of guards with you. It's quite dangerous." 

"I will only be attending a school. Why would it be dangerous?" Yuuri asks, tilting his head. He folds his arms across his chest. His husband has not told him about the protests and riots. Will this be the moment he lays the truth of Russia’s unrest at Yuuri's feet? 

"My grandfather was assassinated. The family used to live in the Winter Palace. His assassins placed explosives underneath the dining room and triggered it when they thought the entire family would be dining above. They used a clock to perfect the explosion time, but the family was lucky that day. They were late for dinner, but nevertheless, eleven people died that day," Viktor recalls. "They succeeded a year later in 1881 on the third try. It took three bombers to kill him. My father ascended to the throne, unprepared for the responsibilities, but he was lucky to have Mama by his side." 

"But that was many years ago." 

"It's not the only time the family faced assassinations. My uncle, Sergei Alexandrovich, was killed last year in February. Do you remember Dmitri Pavlovich at the Christmas party?" 

Yuuri remembers a boy who appears older than he actually is. He flirted with the omega, his charms unpolished but adorable in an amusing but harmless way. "Yes, I remember." 

"His mother died, and his father was exiled. It's a long story, but he ended up in my uncle's household. Then my uncle was killed. My aunt permanently left court in grief and retreated into a convent. Now he lives with my brother, because he has nowhere else to go." Viktor shakes his head, twisting his wedding ring. "All I ask you is to be careful. Take your guards, and trust your instincts."

* * *

Takeshi finds a suitable school on the other side of town. He and a few other Japanese guards start up Viktor's automobiles; they were granted permission from the Grand Duke to drive Yuuri anywhere he wished. Viktor did not insist upon Yuuri taking the alpha's guards, appearing to trust the Japanese guards' abilities. 

Takeshi, a guard who has been with Yuuri before the omega even presented, clears the palace's grounds. Though he is somewhat fluent in Russian, he speaks in Japanese. Carefully watching the road, he inquires, "You do want to attend a school?" 

"Yes." 

Phichit, sitting in front, flips through his papers and then Yuuri's schedule book. "It's only a small visit to assess the school. I'm hoping I will have a chance to take decent photographs. My sisters at home would love to see Kiev. They've never traveled as far as I have." 

"It's still a turbulent time," Takeshi remarks. "Morooka is working on hiring some guards who can blend in. Russians." 

Yuuri turns his head, staring at the back of the alpha's head. "My personal guards or something else?" 

"Both." A pause as he turns at the corner, following the shiny black German automobile ahead of him. "He left for St. Petersburg this morning. Wouldn't say why." 

Morooka has his reasons. Yuuri changes the subject. "Phichit, did you find anything about the school?" 

"A little," the other man answers. "Pushkin Elementary in Kiev is run by a team of schoolteachers. One teacher doubles as an administrator and a first grade teacher. His name is Georgi Popovich." 

The omega frowns. "How many students does this school have?" 

"Six hundred. Total." Phichit adds, "There aren't a lot of schools in Kiev. This is one of the ten public schools. It’s funded by the local government." 

Puzzled, Yuuri's frown deepens. "Six hundred students? Ten schools? What’s the population of Kiev then?” Kiev, the omega knows, is one of the most populous cities in Russia. According to the 1897 Russian Imperial Census, it’s the seventh most populated city. Yuuri is mildly disappointed the Tsarist government will not be running another census anytime soon. 

“Morooka estimated it to be three hundred thousand. They have not kept track.” 

“Only six thousand students out of three hundred thousand? That seems remarkably low,” Yuuri comments, narrowing his eyes as he stares out of the automobile. Nagoya, a city in Japan, has a population similar to Kiev. They have fifty-three public elementary schools, all funded by the Japanese government. “Then what do children do? How do they learn Russian, mathematics, literature?" 

“I assume their parents teach them.”

“What are children doing while they’re not in school?” 

“I don’t know,” the omega’s assistant answers, flipping through Yuuri’s schedule book as if it contains the answer. “Do you want me to find out for you?” 

“No,” Yuuri replies. He straightens his spine. “I’m certain we will find out soon.”

* * *

The quality of the school nearly throws Yuuri’s neat composure. His first thought is filled with unflattering wonder. This is a public school in Kiev? He’s disgusted by the faint smell of foul odor dispensing from the walls as he visits the fourth grade classroom. Children study here in these small, cramped rooms with awful creaking wooden tables? The very air smells stuffy, as if no one has bothered opening the windows for decades. 

The teacher bows to Yuuri, his words translated by Phichit. “We are pleased that His Imperial Highness has honored us with his presence.” But from the awkward, bent posture of his back and the half-hearted smile on the teacher’s lips, it’s clear he does not believe his own words. “Should His Imperial Highness need anything at all, he only needs to ask.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Preobrazhensky.” 

In Japanese, Yuuri softly inquires, “Where’s the administrator?” 

To the schoolteacher, Phichit asks, “His Imperial Highness would like to know where Georgi Popovich could be found.” 

“Georgi Kirillovich will be teaching for another eight minutes. Then his class will have a break for twenty minutes." 

"How many students does he have?" 

Phichit translates the omega's words. 

"I think he had forty-three students." The teacher pauses, hesitating. Then he adds, "We used to have more before they increased the fee to four roubles. Before, it was two. Not many parents are willing to pay four roubles when it could be spent somewhere else." 

"Thank you. Would you be so kind to point us to Mr. Popovich's classroom?" Phichit inquires, asking before the omega even needs to mutter a syllable. With the omega walking in step and the Japanese guards following at a distance, the assistant says in Japanese, "I have never seen a school of such poor quality." 

"Prior to the education decree ten or so years ago, we did have schools of poor quality. Some students had to write in the dirt with sticks to learn kanji," Yuuri replies. He runs his eyes over the school grounds, frowning at the lack of space. Beyond the northern boundaries is a mill. "We modeled our education system after the Americans, and we hired several of their experts to quickly modernize the schools. We provided substantial funding to each school. Here, it only appears the Tsar doesn't care enough." 

Takeshi speaks up, his words soft in Japanese, "I recommend you do not study at this school until there has been a massive repairment done to all of the buildings. Ren says he believes some of the buildings have unstable foundations. He thinks most of it is not suitable for learning." 

"It would be wise to wait until after your child has been born," Phichit suggests. "Wait a while before you take classes. In the meanwhile, perhaps the school could be repaired and modernized." 

The omega nods, taking in their words. "Then we should begin writing a list of repairments." 

By we, Yuuri means Phichit. The assistant opens Yuuri's schedule book and locates an empty page. Scribbling as he walks, he mutters, "Foundation repairment, roof, ventilation, anything else?" 

"Many cleaners. They need to find out where that foul odor is coming from," the omega adds, his nose wrinkling. The group pauses in front of the door labeled as first grade. Georgi Popovich's classroom. "Now, I don't think it would hurt if we interrupted class time for a minute." 

Phichit knocks the door. He patiently waits until it opens. Switching to Russian, he asks, "Are you Georgi Popovich?" 

With over three dozen pairs of curious eyes staring at his back, the tall dark-haired alpha with bags underneath his eyes nods. "I apologize. I'm in class at the moment. Can I assist you?" 

"His Imperial Highness would like to sit in your classroom to observe," Phichit answers, his eyes looking down at Yuuri's planner. "I don't want him to be kept waiting." 

Georgi nervously glances around, his eyes noticing the substantial number of Japanese guards wearing impeccable black suits and milling on the premises. "Are all of them coming in? The classroom is not very big." 

"Only His Imperial Highness and I need to come in. The rest will remain outside." 

The alpha nods, silently accepting those conditions. He opens the door wider and lets them in. "I request that you remain quiet." 

"It would not be a problem," Phichit reassures. 

Yuuri nearly pauses in his step, the hair on the back of his neck raised as he notices every student watching him out of curiosity. He finds an empty chair in the back of the classroom as he breathes through his mouth, trying not to inhale too much of the distant foul odor plaguing the school. It seems far more intense here, and he could hardly sense the mixture of pheromones the students give off. The odor is penetrating, and the omega fears the scent will never leave his clothes. 

"Here," Phichit mutters in Japanese, turning the chair so it faces Yuuri. "I got it." He stands next to the sitting omega, his hands clutching Yuuri's schedule book. 

Mr. Popovich briefly glances at them both, twisting his fingers nervously. But he opens a book sitting on top of his desk and begins to read it aloud, somehow capable of recognizing words despite poor lighting. 

It's not until the schoolteacher is halfway through a verse when Yuuri realizes it's not a book he's reading but rather poetry. Mr. Popovich, as he quietly intones line after line, recites each word reverently. He has read this poem over and over again, enough times to memorize it and know it by heart. 

Once finished, Phichit leans down to Yuuri's ear and says in Japanese, "I recognize the poem. 'I Loved You.' It was written by Alexander Pushkin. It's about a lover who has moved on yet the narrator is still in love with them. But he wishes them well in the end." 

Yuuri has never heard of it, but the poem is incredibly beautiful. It's simple, and it's a startlingly respectful poem for an alpha to read. Yuuri can't help but think about his cousin's tutor once again, about how alphas always view their omegas as an extension of themselves no matter what. It's strange to hear the alpha letting go. 

The schoolteacher shuts the book. "I will let you off to recess early. You must come back in twenty minutes, but think about the poem and what Alexander Pushkin meant." 

From the way all the students eagerly rush out through the door, Yuuri doubts they will be thinking about the poem at all. Still, he stands up and says in Japanese, "I hope you don't mind if we observe your class for the next hour." 

“Not at all,” the schoolteacher says. “Please observe, Your Highness.”

And Yuuri does. 

The loud chatter they make as they chaotically reenter the classroom makes Yuuri softly smile. Despite the destitute school they attend and the dirt sticking to their clothes and faces, they somehow find it in them to be happy. He's not ignorant of the whispers they utter behind their hands. The children aren't as discreet as they believe themselves to be. Georgi orally goes through literature lessons in a breeze, but they can't help but sneak peeks at Yuuri and Phichit in the back. 

"Who is he?" one child wonders. 

"I don't know. I've never seen anyone look like him before." 

The schoolteacher presses on. He passes out small sheets of paper and a few pencils. He announces, "Group up with your partner. We are going to start practicing simple addition." 

It is rather simple, but Yuuri tries not to react as students are forced to share pencil and paper between them. In Japanese, he mutters to Phichit, "Does this school not have money to afford enough pencils and paper for the students?" 

"I could look into the school's finances." 

"Do."

* * *

On the drive back to the palace, the line of automobiles slows as the crowd of people with signs grows in number. It’s not as big as the one surrounding the train station in St. Petersburg, but it’s still a formidable crowd of a hundred or so people. Takeshi, clutching the wheel, frowns and suggests, "We should go around." He tries turning right only to find more angry protesters waiting for him. "This is troubling," he remarks, reversing the automobile. "We need to have the local police clear the way." 

"What is going on?" 

"I don't know," the guard replies, his posture tense. "The signs are all about freedom and civil liberties and something about the Fundamental Laws. I don't know what pushed the protests." 

Yuuri doesn’t need another clue. It’s the Tsar. He probably did something to aggravate the masses. He looks out of the window. Every protester looks young, their faces grimy with dirt and rage. He flinches at the sudden appearance of a smashed egg against the glass window, his mouth dropping in surprise. The egg bleeds black and brown, rotten. “I’m not even a member of the Russian court, and they hate us.” 

“Well, to be fair, we did attack them,” Phichit points out. “We killed a lot of their soldiers. We killed seventy thousand soldiers and captured seventy thousand.” 

“Yet they are not protesting against Japan,” the omega muses, his eyes peering around the mess of splattered egg. “You see no signs about Japan.” He pulls out his spectacles from his pocket, squinting through the lenses. He spies a sign held by two boys down the street.  _ Ravnodushiye yest' molchalivaya podderzhka togo, kto silon, togo, kto gospodstvuyet. _

_ Indifference is the silent support of the one who is strong, the one who dominates. _

Every sign is cryptic, as if they know something Yuuri doesn’t. It unsettles him, and Yuuri pulls off his spectacles. “I need to find a copy of a book.” 

“Yes?”

“It’s banned by the Tsarist government.”

“That’s not a problem,” Phichit replies. “We can always find a way to obtain the book. What’s the name of it?” 

_ “The Communist Manifesto.  _ Written by Karl Marx,” Yuuri answers. He wants to curse himself for not obtaining a copy. His lack of knowledge is dragging him down, a lead weight around his ankle. He needs to rapidly assimilate and understand Russian culture, but despite the months he has spent living in Russia, he has not learnt enough. He doesn’t know about the schools and whether or not they’re all in poor condition like Pushkin Elementary, he doesn’t know about the people and their lives, and he doesn’t feel the political heartbeat pulsing in the background. 

“The police have arrived. They’re getting the protesters off the street,” Takeshi notes, slowly moving the automobile forward. He pauses and adds, “They are arresting some of them.” 

“They are?” Phichit wonders. 

“Yes. There’s a red-haired woman in front of us. Do you see her? With the basket,” the guard answers, his hand gesturing in the woman’s direction. “I think they saw her throwing the egg at us.” 

It takes a brief second for Yuuri to spot the woman. She resists against the police officers, shouting at them. Either they've seen this woman before or the police officers are well-trained, for they barely react to her. The omega scratches his chin in thought. "See when she will be released. Then invite her to have breakfast with me on one of the days Viktor isn't home." 

Viktor Alexandrovich, who is dedicated to his military career, has been transferred to a new posting in Kiev. He's frequently not at home, and though Viktor is a better alpha than what Yuuri has expected, he's grateful for the space Viktor has given him. There is a small, nagging thought that Viktor may be unfaithful, that he chooses to stay away from Yuuri now that they're expecting a child, but Yuuri shoves it away. It does not matter. 

"Is that wise?" Phichit asks. 

Yuuri considers the question. "No, but I suspect she could help me." 

"We will ensure his safety," Takeshi reassures, pulling up at the wide gates of the palace. "I'll personally search her for any possible weapons." A pause as he awkwardly scratches the crook of his neck. "Please don't tell Yuuko. I'm still trying to court her."

* * *

"This is an expensive project," Viktor muses in his office, looking over the details for the repairment of the local schools. He sets down the report Phichit wrote and adds, "I don't think I've ever seen a project like this before. I'm surprised." 

There's an odd flash of pleasure in Yuuri's stomach at the thought of surprising Viktor. He ignores it. 

"Usually, the city government handles the affairs of the local schools," the alpha comments. "They're supposed to maintain their quality." 

They are indeed supposed to. Then Phichit briefly interviewed a city official a couple days ago and relayed everything she said. The city of Kiev does not receive much money from taxes, and most of it goes towards maintenance of roads, the police, and the yearly payment to the water company. What's left of it is set aside to the school. The Tsarist government sends very little money towards education. The mandatory fee for schools helped to keep the doors open, but not a lot of parents are willing to part from their roubles. 

Yuuri spent days mulling over the problem, a hand at his stomach as he pondered for a solution. It's not dissimilar to Japan in the late 19th century, where schools were dysfunctional and teachers struggled to teach their students. Whereas the Emperor was able to force all the schools under a centralized system and gave funding and subsidies to schools, Yuuri has no luxury of being the head of government. He has no voice or say to what the Tsarist government should do. He could spend years writing letters to the Tsar, begging his brother-in-law to improve the lives of students. He could try to convince Viktor to persuade his brother. But his mind remembers the heavy sum in his personal bank account and wonders if it is enough to help the schools. 

It turns out that the fifty thousand roubles in Yuuri's account has a lot of sway. He does not need the ear of the Tsar when he has money and help to give. Besides, it's better this way. He does not need to answer to anyone but his husband. 

So now he sits on the other side of Viktor's desk, waiting for his husband's judgement. 

"It's a good plan, but you might want to estimate the cost to be twenty percent more than what you expect. There are always surprises when you construct or repair a building." The alpha taps the papers. "But Yuura, you didn't have to show this to me. I wouldn't question you spending money on this project." 

"I do have one other question," Yuuri says, after a moment of taking Viktor's words into account. It appears that his alpha has given him a green light and could hardly care any less about what he does with the money. "Do you have a name for our child?" 

Viktor smiles, his eyes sparkling. "I do have a few ideas." He pulls out a drawer in his desk, sifting through bound notebooks. He pulls out one, then two, and then three. His cheeks red, he admits, "I didn't put my ideas in one book, and I'm afraid the names are all over the place, but I do have a few favorites." 

Yuuri smiles, rewarding his husband's efforts. "Oh? Then tell me some."

* * *

It's a Saturday morning when Viktor takes off to the training camp before dawn. Yuuri only lifts an eyelid at the alpha rising from their marriage bed. He sleeps in until late morning, a first where he did not have to attend church meetings or other unimportant events like salons. The omega, though he is careful not to admit his true feelings, loathes salons, where some of Kiev's most important and rich people come together to discuss religious thoughts. At least the weekly staff meetings he must host are more relevant, though he does not understand the importance of complementary colors in the west wing. He has given that job to Phichit, who has reported back to the omega that he has designed a soft purple and pale blue theme. 

That morning, Yuuri rises out of bed and puts on a traditional light blue dress, elegant and simple. He paces himself slowly, trying not to give away his eagerness. He greets every servant he passes by, acknowledging them with their names. Then he makes his way downstairs to the patio with Phichit at his heels. 

"You came down earlier than I expected. I thought you would have slept a few more minutes," the assistant remarks, fidgeting with Yuuri's schedule book. "She's waiting for you by the fountain. We have a table set up." 

"Good," Yuuri says, nodding. He pushes the glass doors open, taking in the morning sun. It's high up in the sky, almost halfway through its journey. "Is it breakfast if we're eating at noon?" 

"It can be anything you want." A pause as Phichit switches to Japanese. "Takeshi has verified she is unarmed. Would you like him to be nearby?" 

"Yes. But not too close. I don't want him to look imposing." 

"Considering the fact that she did throw an egg at you, you might want him to look imposing," Phichit comments. But he does not call Takeshi to come closer. He steps forward, clearing his throat for the woman's attention. In Russian, he acknowledges, "Miss Babicheva, I introduce to you Yuri Alekseevich, the Grand Duke." 

"Viktor Alexandrovich's Japanese husband," she says, surprised. She nervously plays with a strand of auburn hair. "But why is he here?" 

"He summoned you here, because he was puzzled why you threw an egg at his husband's automobile," Phichit explains, pulling out the chair at the white wooden round table for Yuuri. "And forgive me, I did not introduce myself. I'm Phichit Chulanont, his personal translator. He does not understand Russian." 

Puzzled, Mila cocks her head. "So I talk to you and then you tell him what I said?" 

"Yes. Nothing more, nothing less. His Imperial Highness, unfortunately, did not have enough time to learn Russian before he married Viktor Alexandrovich." The assistant settles down in his seat. "Would you like to tell him now or later?" 

Mila glances downwards at her empty plate. Then she turns her head, finding Takeshi lurking by the pine trees. She sighs, still hesitating. "I suppose I can't deny what I did." 

"Plenty of his guards saw you throw the egg. But your answer? Your reasoning?" 

"What would happen if I tell you?" She inquires. "I don't suppose you will let me go." 

"Miss Babicheva, His Imperial Highness is not a monster or the sort of person who would do such a thing. I assure you that his intentions are true. He wants to simply talk, perhaps share a breakfast. Then you are free to go." 

The red-haired woman pauses at that, clearly taken aback by the assistant. "It can't possibly be that simple." Then she glances at the maid, carrying a basket of steaming buns and setting it on the table. Her stomach growls. "I suppose a talk wouldn't hurt." 

In Japanese, Phichit says, "She is willing to talk to you. In return, I think she wants breakfast." 

"That's fine," Yuuri replies back, his syllables uttered softly in Japanese. "Do you think you can get the answer out of her?" 

"I won't know until I try." Then Phichit switches languages and addresses Mila. "Miss Babicheva, His Imperial Highness is new to Russia. As an omega, he is rarely let out of sight in Japan. He seeks to understand the people. That's all. I assure you that you can say every awful thing that the Tsarist government does not allow, and you won't be punished for saying so. We only want the truth." 

"In Russia," the woman pauses, breaking off a piece of hot bun. Her mouth drops in surprise at the sweet apple filling inside, eagerly taking a bite and moaning in appreciation. "I've never eaten anything so sweet and good before. This is amazing!" 

The assistant smiles patiently, waiting for her to lick every trace of apple from her fingers. "You said something about ‘in Russia’?" 

"Yes, in Russia," she pauses, eyeing another bun and suddenly noticing that Yuuri has not touched a thing. "Will he be eating?" 

"He doesn't like bread. He is waiting for his soup." 

"I thought royals don't have to wait for their meal," she says, a bitter tone in her words. "Why did they keep him waiting?" 

"He woke up earlier than expected," Phichit answers. He turns to Yuuri and says in Japanese, "She's avoiding the question. Do you want to try to throw her a different question to see if she will answer it?" 

"Yes," Yuuri replies. "Ask her about her personal life. What she does, where she lives, if she has any family." 

Phichit returns his attention to the red-haired woman. "Do you work?" 

Her answer is forthcoming. "Yes, I do. I work as a seamstress and a laundress. I fix people's clothes and wash them. I'm not as busy as I used to be." 

The assistant nods, smiling. "As a translator, I am to remain at His Imperial Highness' side. You may find it surprising that it is not Viktor Alexandrovich who has hired me but rather the Emperor." 

"The Tsar?" 

"No, the Japanese Emperor. He is his grandfather." 

Mila leans in, her chin tucked in her palm as she plants her elbow on the white tablecloth. "Japan's royal line of ascension. Don't they allow female alphas on the throne?" 

"Yes, they only allow male betas and both female and male alphas on the throne." 

"The Russian throne is even more selective. They only want male betas and alphas. It's rare for the heir to present as an omega." 

"His Imperial Highness was formerly third in line to the Japanese throne until he presented as an omega. He had a difficult time transitioning. He hid inside his room for months, unwilling to see anyone but a few servants." 

"From potential heir to a bride to satisfy the terms of a treaty," Mila muses. "It's quite a change." She sets down her hand and twists a cloth napkin. "I'm nineteen years old. When I presented as an omega at fourteen, everything changed. My family wanted me to marry this alpha. He was rich, but I heard rumors about the accidental death of his previous wife. He gave my parents so much money, but on the wedding day. . . I ran and never looked back. That's how I ended up in Kiev."

Phichit finishes murmuring Japanese to Yuuri, genuinely translating her words. 

"What happened to your family? Do you still keep contact?" The omega inquires with his assistant translating his words. 

Throwing back her head, Mila laughs. "Keep in contact? They wanted to give me away to a brute. I did not want anything to do with them. No, Kiev is a better place for me. At least here, I'm free." 

The assistant absorbs her words. 

"Ask her what the protest was about." 

"His Imperial Highness would like to know what you know about the protests." Phichit elaborates, "I lived in Japan for many years and have never seen such an uprising." 

It's technically true and not true. Japan faced a riot last September, protesting the terms of the treaty that ended the war with Russia. Some Japanese people felt the concessions made by Japan were humiliating. However, that riot was laid to rest while Russia's series of protests still continue to this day. 

"They were protesting the city's tax increase for farmers. They already make so little yet Kiev wants more. Some think the city officials are going to steal that money and pocket it for themselves. The city claims they will be using that money to hire more officers. To preserve justice." The bitter tang in Mila’s words suggests she doesn’t believe in the city government. 

"Your Imperial Highness, your miso soup," Yuuko says, setting down the steaming bowl of soup with a side of rice in front of Yuuri. "I apologize for it being late." 

"It's alright. I woke up early." Yuuri smiles, clasping his hands together in gratitude. "Itadakimasu." He retrieves a pair of chopsticks and places a bite of white rice layered with soy sauce on his tongue. 

Yuuko switches to Russian, her words accented though audible. She's not as good as Phichit in this language. "Miss Babicheva, would you like anything else?" 

Mila instantly shakes her head. "No, thank you. I enjoyed the bun." 

"Then you should have another." Yuuko folds her hands over her apron. "We can also pack some for you to take home." 

"You can?" 

Yuuri doesn't mistake the look of want and desire on the other omega's face. Though she would love to have more, she still maintains a facade of respectfulness and politeness. 

"Yes. I will arrange a box for you." 

"Would His Imperial Highness be alright with that?" Mila glances nervously at the omega. "I don't want to impose." 

Phichit rapidly translates, his words firing off quicker than a bullet from a gun. He listens to Yuuri's response and nods as he redirects himself to the omega. "Yes, he doesn't mind at all. He actually told Yuuko to give you two boxes before you leave." 

Yuuko inclines her head, taking her leave. "I will be fetching two boxes for you, Miss Babicheva." 

Yuuri is beginning to suspect that food could be a powerful bribe in Russia. If only he could bribe the entire country with food to gain control over the throne. 

Mila's eyes widen in surprise. Her cheeks flush red, and she blurts out, "I am very sorry for throwing an egg at your automobile." 

Yuuri laughs, only once Phichit finishes his translation. "I only want to know why you decided to throw an egg at me." 

"I had an egg I had forgotten. It was left in my home for weeks, and I thought of disposing it properly, but I thought it could have a better use at the protest organized by farmers. We stood there for hours outside Mariyinsky Palace. We weren't waiting for particularly anyone, but we hoped there was someone in there who could change the city's mind on the taxes. Someone like Viktor Alexandrovich, whose word could sway city officials. Then we saw the line of automobiles, only used by someone rich. I didn't know who was in there," she explains, after a moment of hesitation. "I was angry, so I threw the egg at the automobile. Then I got arrested." 

Puzzled, Yuuri voices, "Why would you throw an egg at the automobile? It seems counterintuitive to convincing anyone to support your desires." 

Mila stares at him. "He truly does not know Russia?" 

"Originally, they had plans for Yuri Alekseevich to be married to a wealthy Japanese alpha. Then the treaty happened, and he was woefully unprepared for his new role." 

"The people have been protesting and complaining for decades. Even before I was born. Even before the Tsar's father became Tsar. These problems have plagued Russia for a long time. Russia is like a hot pot boiling under pressure. We keep asking the Tsar to do something to alleviate the issues, but he ignores everything. Then the war came, and everything got worse. The price of food soared, and we couldn't keep up. People are angry, blaming the Tsar for the troubles." A pause. "He shuts down the protests over and over again, silencing us. Ignoring the problems. And now. . . We have to try to make ourselves heard. We have so little that we don't have much to lose." She blushes scarlet, nearly as red as her hair, as if she realized how much she spoke. 

"How could my husband help with the problems? It doesn't seem like these are issues one person can solve alone." 

"I don't know," she answers. "But if he was listening or if the Tsar was listening to the people instead of muzzling the Duma, maybe our lives would be better. I don't think it could be worse."

* * *

In the palace's library, Phichit sets a book on top of Yuuri's unread pile. He notes in English, "I found the book you were looking for. One of our associates luckily found a copy in English. I have taken the liberty of replacing the covers with a children's book." 

"Thank you." 

"Is it wise to invite Miss Babicheva for breakfast next week?" 

"She makes for an interesting conversationalist." 

Phichits hums. "To be accurate, she talks to me and then I tell you what she says. I'm like a telephone." 

"That is not an incorrect comparison." A pause as Yuuri leans forward in his chair and reaches for the book. "Have you read this book?" 

"No. Would you like me to?" 

"I haven't decided. I want to see what ideas have gotten the masses in a tizzy," Yuuri remarks, opening the book to the first page. His finger thumbs over the title page.  _ The Communist Manifesto.  _ Underneath the title are the authors, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. 

"There is one more thing you need to know. Your husband called while you were having a late breakfast with Miss Babicheva. He is letting us know he will be coming home at four and would be happy to have dinner with you." 

The omega nods. "Then I would be happy to have dinner with him." Then he sits back in his chair, left alone with a book the Tsarist government has banned. What could be so dangerous in this book? What ideas have slithered into the minds of the Russian people and taken root in their hearts? 

He skims through the preamble, uninterested in the dramatic wording, and then starts at the first line of the first chapter. 

> _ The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles. _

* * *

Dinner with Viktor is a quiet affair. They sit on opposite ends of a long table, occasionally glancing at each other over the lit candlesticks. Yuuri is familiar with this procedure. He listens dutifully and makes the right, supportive comments. He doesn't know how dinner makes Viktor happy. He's not happy, not when his conversation with Mila Babicheva was far more stimulating and he has not finished reading  _ The Communist Manifesto. _ Nevertheless, he endures. It’s not all that bad. He has suffered worse conversations with less impressive alphas than his husband. 

“I worry about Nikolai Nikolaevich,” Viktor says, commenting on his uncle, who is also the general of the army. “He’s great at his job. The men all love him, but he does seem lonely at times. He only has God in his company and the occasional drink. I was thinking of hosting a small party.” 

“How big is this small party?” Yuuri inquires. The omega knows better than to assume “a small party” will be his definition of a small party. Yuuri believes a small party is at most ten people. For Viktor and his large extended family, a small party could be a hundred people, a night filled with faces Yuuri can’t tell apart and names he can’t differentiate. There are far too many people named Maria in Russia. 

“I think twenty people,” Viktor answers. “But they may invite others, so we could be looking at forty people.” 

“When do you want to host the party?” 

“It’s up to you, Yuura. We can wait until after the child comes.” He sets down his napkin and states, “Mama took you to the first assembly of the Imperial Duma.”

At the change in subject, Yuuri glances up from his borscht, his spoon dribbling soup back into the bowl. “Yes, I did attend the first assembly with her. What about it?” 

“She mentioned you briefly met with Sergei Witte.” A pause. “I wonder if you heard that he resigned from his position.” 

“He did? He seemed nice,” Yuuri comments. 

“Being kind isn’t enough to be in the favor of my brother. Mama said Sergei Yulyevich and Nicky had differing ideas for Russia’s future. He wanted the rule of law to be relaxed while Nicky pushed for strong, effective laws.” Viktor tilts his head out of curiosity, glancing at Yuuri over the dancing candlelight. “He has been replaced by Ivan Goremykin. Ivan Logginovich was a lawyer.” 

The omega leans in, finally interested in the conversation. “What did you think about Sergei Yulyevich and his policies?” 

“I don’t know enough about it. Politics is not my forte. I know close to nothing about policies and what should be good for Russia. I can play Kriegsspiel very well, but ruling people? I don’t like to think about it.” 

Yuuri blinks in surprise. “You play Kriegsspiel?” Kriegsspiel is a wargame, created by Prussians. It seeks to mimic the movements of armies. Each piece represents a military unit, whether it is a cavalry squadron or a battalion. Some Japanese officers have credited their success on the battlefields against Russia to this game. It’s a great way of expanding tactics and strategies. Yuuri frequently played this game with Mari when they were only children. He won, most of the time. She's too impatient, eager to land blows against Yuuri's units. Minako-sensei, on the other hand, taught him everything she knew and encouraged him to try different methodologies. Yuuri found her to be quite a challenge. 

"You know what it is?" 

"I do," Yuuri admits, smiling at the old memories. "My sister played against me a lot. It was exhilarating." 

"We should play sometime," Viktor suggests, rising from his chair. He wipes his hands on the napkin and drops it on the table, making his way over to Yuuri's side. "Tonight, if you're not busy." 

Yuuri's voice drops, his words husky. Without thinking, he murmurs, "You should know, Vitya. The only plan I have tonight is you." And oh, does the sight of his alpha's pretty blush send an electric thrill of pleasure through Yuuri's heart. 

They skip dessert, nearly sprinting past guards and running towards the particular room hosting the Kriegsspiel board. Viktor, in his eagerness, is quick to pull out the box filled with army pieces and roll the map over the table.

Yuuri immediately notices something different about the board. “There’s two of them? Kriegsspiel is played on one board. Most of the time.” 

“We have two, because my cousin is really bad at remembering where his pieces are and he loved to play, so we made some modifications. We have two boards. One for each other to help them with their memory, and we have a partition, so we can’t see each other’s boards. Can you adjust to these differences?” 

The omega pauses, peering at Viktor’s side and his own board. They’re both the same, and he supposes it would be slightly easier to play Kriegsspiel with two boards. He nods. “I can.” 

"Yuura, I want you to know something." 

"Oh? What is it?" 

"I'm quite competitive," he admits, smoothing out the map. "I hope you try your hardest. I will accept nothing else." 

"I aim to give you a challenge." That's all Yuuri says, his eyes narrowing at his alpha. His nerves twist out of excitement. For the first time since Minako-sensei, he may finally have a worthy opponent. He wants to see what Viktor has in him. 

"I don't believe we need an umpire. Unless you don't play fair?" There's a sparkle of delight in Viktor's eyes as he sets up the second board and raises up the partition so they can't see the other army on the board. 

"All is fair in love and war." And so Yuuri begins, setting up his pieces. He muses over the map, taking in the details of rivers, mountains, and valleys. "Does this map depict someplace real?" 

"Yes. The heart of France." 

Yuuri glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "Taking revenge on Napoleon Bonaparte?" 

"Napoleon has been dead for over eighty years," Viktor comments. He winks. "But what he does not know will not hurt him. If you don't like France, we can draw up another map." 

"What others do you have?" 

"Oh, America, Ireland, Spain, India. I do like the European and North American maps. The mountains add to an interesting twist on the battlefields. Now, shall we begin?" 

They do and quickly run into a problem. 

Yuuri protests, "An infantry squadron can't defeat a cavalry unless they have some long-range weapons." A cavalry is like an archer; they could pick targets from afar and safely neutralize them. In this case, it's as if Yuuri's infantry squadron, which are foot soldiers, came across a couple hundred archers lurking miles away. They would be slain quickly unless they found cover. 

"But I cede my cavalry to you." 

The omega folds his arms over his chest. "In a real battle, that would never happen." 

"They were dumbstruck by your beauty." 

"They could not have seen me," Yuuri replies, somewhat amused by Viktor's mercy. "In a real war, I would be far away from the battlefields. Somewhere safe from the chaos. They should have discovered the infantry, bided their time, and then launched their attacks without a warning." 

Viktor holds up his index finger. "My cavalry drank too much, and your infantry heard them celebrating with alcohol." 

"That's not how it works." 

"Battles have been won and lost in less foolish ways." 

"Vitya, I thought you wanted to kill the French army. That's why I picked my pieces to be French defenders." The omega narrows his eyes. "I shall fetch Phichit to be the umpire, if you're so willing to bend the rules for me." 

"It's not rules," Viktor passionately insists. "It's the truth." 

With that, the omega rises from his chair and saunders over to the desk, his fingers reaching for the ivory receiver. Needless to say, Yuuri uses the telephone to call for Phichit. The assistant arrives with a tray three minutes later, still chewing on his dinner. He’s dressed down, his black tie skewed and his feet bare of any shoes or socks. 

"I apologize," he says, hurriedly setting the tray on Yuuri's side of the partition. "I was in the middle of dinner." 

"Mr. Chulanont, if you are still eating, we could go without an umpire and you can come back when you're done," Viktor says. "Do not worry, do not rush your meal." 

“Oh, no. I haven’t seen a good game of Kriegsspiel in a long time and never a game with two maps. It should be easier to remember the pieces,” Phichit says, grinning broadly. He tilts his head at the omega and adds, “Yuuri has been hoping for a good challenger for years. The people in the Japanese Imperial Court would rather play shōgi and have no interest in a game like Kriegsspiel. And please, it’s Phichit. It’s not Mr. Chulanont. That is my father.” 

“How did you come to be employed by Yuura?” he inquires, handing back Yuuri’s pieces to the omega’s side of the board. 

“America,” Phichit answers, after gobbling down another bite of his meal. “I hope you don’t mind me eating while you two play.”

“Of course not.” A pause. “I’ll tell Vitya how we met. It was in America. Before I presented, I toured the United States, Canada, Britain, Spain, France, Italy, and so many other countries. I snuck away at a party hosted by the Japanese Embassy. I found the library while Phichit was searching for his lost hamster. I helped him look." 

"He was the one who found Arthur," Phichit interjects. "If it wasn't for Yuuri, Arthur might have lived out his life in the Japanese Embassy or eaten by the Ambassador's cat. Mean, wretched animal, and I like most animals. But that fat cat had it out for Arthur. She was looking for a snack." 

"How did you end up working for Yuura?" 

"I helped him perfect his English. My father is a merchant. He traded with businesses from Japan, America, Britain for many years. He had eight children and taught us how to trade and how to speak foreign languages. When I worked for the Imperial Court of Japan, I was only expected to stay for a few months, but I never left. So here I am." 

"I'm glad you stayed." 

Phichit laughs. "It's not completely altruistic. If I hadn't left, I would have worked for my father and he severely dislikes hamsters." He rubs his hands together, a glint in his dark brown eyes. "Now. Shall we play?" 

"Yes. I suppose you will force me to play fair," Viktor says, sighing dramatically. 

"You were helping me win." Pouting, Yuuri corrects, "Throwing the game." 

"How could I not?" 

With the raised partition in front of him, Phichit snickers, but he doesn't utter a word. 

With Phichit present as an umpire and free to declare the proper conclusion to each skirmish and battle, the game of Kriegsspiel draws silence except for the assistant's occasional remark and chewing. 

Yuuri pulls over an armchair, sitting down to rest as he stares at his map. He's unable to see where Viktor's pieces are at, but he has several guesses. His hand absentmindedly strokes over his bump, growing steadily bigger every single week. Yuuri is trying to see Viktor's movements, his tactics. Every single skirmish grants the omega a shred of information, but also gives insight to his husband of what Yuuri's formation is. 

As France, Yuuri's first and foremost goal is to protect Paris and the nearby towns from Viktor's attack. He has picked off several of his husband's small cavalry forces, presumably placed on the map to do reconnaissance. The game progresses, Yuuri taking some of Viktor's pieces and vice versa. He's briefly puzzled when it appears that his stack of pieces appears to be bigger than Viktor's. Is Viktor planning something or is Yuuri that much better than him? 

Phichit remains stone-faced, never judging any of their movements and decisions. With the help of a die, he calls out conclusions for battles, his eyes glancing between the two maps, strictly impartial. 

It's when Yuuri yawns twice that Viktor calls the game off. He insists, "You need your rest, and we can always play again another day. And Phichit, you're an excellent umpire." 

"Thank you. I'm glad I got a chance to see an exciting game." He bows briefly and takes his tray of empty plates and used utensils, quietly taking his leave. 

With Viktor’s hand on his back, Yuuri sneaks a peek at Viktor’s board, curious to the alpha’s formations and tactics. He finds his units highly centralized around the upper river of Seine, miles away from Yuuri’s defensive formation. What was the alpha planning?

* * *

"Does that feel better?" 

Yuuri mumbles a happy reply into his alpha's pillow. With Viktor soothing the sore cramps in his legs, he feels refreshed despite the late hour. His hand rubs circles over his bare protruding stomach. He sighs, near purring, as his husband's warm hands gently press on his bare skin, sliding upwards and rubbing the omega's knee. 

"Anywhere else sore? Hurting?" 

Yuuri lifts his head. "My back. It feels as if I've been walking for hours without sitting or laying down. I'm not used to the weight." 

"You should rest more. Take it slow." Viktor sighs. "I shouldn't have invited you to play Kriegsspiel. I was tiring you, and you need your rest." 

“Vitya?”

“Mmm?” 

“How would you take Paris? In the game?” 

“Will we be continuing the game tomorrow?” Viktor inquires. 

“Perhaps. But I want to know,” Yuuri admits, rolling onto his side. His eyes peer into his husband’s, watching a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “And I may have cheated.” 

The alpha smiles. “I was wondering if you were going to admit sneaking a look at my pieces.” A pause. “You would have noticed most of my pieces were around the river.” 

“Yes. Seine. It flows through Paris.” 

“Correct. I was going to submit to Phichit that I would be damming the river, so a lot of water is able to build up behind the dam,” he answers, his hands slipping down to rub Yuuri’s feet without tickling the omega. “Once enough water built up, the soldiers would set an explosion on the dam. Paris would flood and be taken by not fire but water.” 

“A dam? That’s an unique way to destroy Paris.” 

“Sometimes, the creative strategies are better than the ordinary tactics. In 332 B.C., Alexander the Great seethed at the strong defences enacted around Tyre. It was an island, and it was impenetrable. It took months for him to finally siege the city, but how did he do it?” Viktor pauses and whispers, “He built a causeway for his army and turned an island into a peninsula.” 

“It was insane. What he did.” 

“Was he still mad when it worked?” 

Yuuri shakes his head. “No. He was brilliant.” 

"One of the greatest of all times, the greatest in the history of humanity." A pause. "One must study those who became great to learn. Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, and as much as I abhor this name, Napoleon Bonaparte. But enough about war and strategy. Are you sore or in pain anywhere else?" 

"Yes." 

Viktor frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "Where exactly?" 

Wordlessly, Yuuri slowly pushes himself up from the bed, sitting up with blankets pooling around him. He takes his husband's hand, warm and soft, and places the appendage on his upper thigh, leading the alpha’s path towards the place Yuuri needs attention the most. He releases a shaky breath as Viktor lightly runs his fingertip down the line of the omega’s panty. His hands dive into his pillows, desperately gripping the fabric as the alpha pulls away the sheer material, slipping it down his legs. He instantly gasps at the relief and pleasant tingles the very touch brings. 

"You've grown only more beautiful each day, Yuura," the alpha murmurs, compliments dripping from his tongue like honey. “You glow. Vibrant.” 

Yuuri purrs, delighted in his alpha’s approval. He knows that most alphas are besotted with their mates during the pregnancy of their children, a symbol of their virility. Viktor is no exception, and the omega is very pleased that instead of pulling away after a job well-done, the alpha draws closer, his hands exploring Yuuri’s pearl, dipping in and drawing slick. 

The alpha turns onto his stomach, parting the omega’s legs, his mouth closing around Yuuri’s cock. With kitten licks, he teases at Yuuri’s head, his pale pink tongue swirling around the slit. He sucks briefly, his cheeks hollowing. He blinks behind pale eyelashes, his voice low as he teasingly draws away. “Was that a good massage or do you need more, Yuura?” His eyes glimmer wickedly. 

With that, the omega quickly sits up, rolling the alpha over. In a huff, he demands, “It was an amazing massage, but I quickly grow tired of massages. I’m going to do what you failed to do with Paris.” 

“Paris?” The alpha blinks in confusion, a breath of a laugh escaping his lips, but he hurriedly helps Yuuri tear off his pants, tossing it carelessly to the floor. “What does Paris have to do with me?” 

“You didn’t conquer Paris,” Yuuri whispers, pushing the alpha onto his back. He throws a leg across the alpha’s thighs, his fingertips pressing moon-shaped brands into the other man’s hips. “I’m going to take what I want.” 

“Zolotse,” Viktor softly says, his words sounding like a prayer. “You can’t take what you already have.” 

With that, Yuuri is gone. He rips off the rest of his alpha’s clothes and kicks away his loose white nightgown. He sinks down on the alpha's proud manhood, impaling himself on the other man's member, his mouth popped open in a silent gasp. Then he moves, eagerly conquering his alpha's body. 

Yuuri's eyes meet the other man's. Blue, azure, a beautiful shade like the sky. In the dim lighting provided by the electric lamps, the alpha has never looked so lovely and arresting, keeping the omega in a spellbound trance. 

"Yuura." 

Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s shoulders, digging his nails into the pale skin. A faint line, pink, marks the alpha. Seeing stars behind his eyes as his back arches in release, he gasps in Japanese, “Don’t you ever look away from me, alpha.”

* * *

A slow knock at the door startles Yuuri from his journal. He sets aside the bound book next to a fresh vase of flowers, hurrying towards the door. “Who is it?” he asks in English. All the staff and employees at Mariyinsky Palace know better than to rudely barge into Yuuri’s private quarters without a warning. 

“It’s me,” Phichit says in Japanese. “I want to show you something.” 

Yuuri leaves the door open as Phichit strolls in, a thick packet of papers in his hands. Tilting his head and switching to Japanese, he inquires, “What is it? Is it something from home?” 

“No, nothing from home. Except a letter Mari-sama sent requesting you write more often. She hasn’t gotten a letter in a while.” The assistant plops down on Yuuri’s couch, placing his pile of wrinkled papers on the coffee table. “I found a huge discrepancy in the school’s finances. No other school has these discrepancies. Someone has been stealing hundreds of roubles from the school over the course of six years.” 

“Who?”

“I believe it’s Georgi Popovich,” the other man replies. He points at a line on his sheet of paper. “He signed off on all of them. Twenty-eight repairment payments, twelve school supply payments. I took Ren-kun with me, and there’s no evidence that any of the repairments have been done. We climbed the roof. Well, he climbed the roof and he couldn’t find evidence that they sealed the leak or repainted any of the walls in the last few years. The fences are not mended, and no one has ever added windows to some classrooms. We checked the library. No new books. No visible improvements. All these ‘payments’ add up to a little over twelve hundred roubles. Twelve hundred roubles stolen from this school over six years.” 

Yuuri frowns. He knows some men are quite greedy for money, but it’s impressive how much Georgi Popovich has stolen without getting caught until now. 

“Do you still want to continue repairing this school and all the other schools in Kiev?” Phichit inquires. 

The omega nods. “That needs to be done. It must be repaired, but it seems that we can’t trust the local administration to properly repair the schools. Designate someone in charge of inspecting repairs.” 

“Yes,” Phichit confirms. “I will do that.” 

Yuuri pauses, thinking. “Do you know his address?” 

* * *

“Your Highness, this is an unexpected visit,” the schoolteacher says, looking haggard. In his other hand is a bottle of alcohol, the sort of cheap content that could be found everywhere amongst the poor. He leans against his doorframe, barring entry. “I’m certain you have received my letter of gratitude for additional funding—”

“Save it,” Phichit cuts in. He pushes aside the schoolteacher, leaving a path for Yuuri into the humble home. “His Imperial Highness is flattered, but that is not why we came today. Please sit down. We do want you to be comfortable in your own home.” 

Yuuri rests on Georgi’s table, his hands folded over his protruding belly. He stares silently at the schoolteacher, Takeshi and Ren standing slightly behind him. Yuuri knows they make an intimidating sight in their identical sable uniforms. 

The assistant continues once Georgi sinks down to his bed, the schoolteacher suddenly appearing rather pale and sickly. “Before we begin, I must recommend that you do not lie in the presence of His Imperial Highness. Be forthcoming, and he may spare some of his pity for you. Do you understand, Mr. Popovich?” 

In Japanese, Yuuri says, “Ask him what he did with the money he stole.” 

After listening to Phichit relaying Yuuri’s request, Georgi turns into a milky shade of white, his breaths coming out in short but panicked pants. He clasps his hands together, immediately turning to the omega. “Your Highness, please forgive me for what I’ve done.” 

“It’s not I who needs to grant you forgiveness,” Yuuri replies, his words quickly translated by Phichit. “It’s the children you teach, it’s the students you’ve betrayed with your greed, and it’s the city of Kiev you stole money from. Answer my question. What have you done with the roubles?” 

“I spent it.” 

Phichit inquires, “On what precisely?” 

A single tear drips from the teacher’s eyes. He shakes his head, his lips wobbling. “No, I don’t want to say. It was a mistake.” 

“What was it?” The assistant prompts. A full minute brushes by without another word from the schoolteacher, struggling for breath amidst the tears and the clear mucus dripping from his nose. Phichit casually adds, “This is a serious crime, Mr. Popovich. The rightful action for us is to report it to the police, so you can face justice in the city court for your mistake. I don’t believe it will be a long trial.” 

The schoolteacher heaves three times, his chest expanding rapidly, desperately for air. Then he whispers, “Anya.” 

“What?” 

“A girl, the most beautiful girl in Kiev. That’s who I spent it on,” Georgi admits softly, shielding his eyes with his palms. “I spent all of the money I stole from the school on our wedding rings. Then she rejected me.” His hands drop away from his blood-shot eyes. “Go on. Take me away. Report me to the Okhrana. It is nothing compared to the pain of her leaving me.” 

“What happened to the rings?” Yuuri questions. 

The schoolteacher wordlessly reaches to his neck, retrieving a necklace with two rings dangling from the chain. “I still have them.” 

“You couldn’t return them?” 

"No. He said it was custom-made, and no one would want someone's used rings. But I have the receipt." 

"Get it." Yuuri is then handed a slip of paper. The amount listed for the cost of two rings is exactly twelve hundred and fifteen roubles. Every single rouble this man stole went to pay for a pair of rings a girl would never accept. "Give me the rings." 

With shaking hands, the schoolteacher slips the two rings off his necklace. He passes them to the assistant, who then drops them into Yuuri's palm. 

The omega glances at the rings. They're nicely made, well-crafted, encrusted with white diamonds. The schoolteacher may have stolen money from the school, but at least the jeweler did not rob Mr. Popovich of the rings' value. "I will take these, and in return, I will give exactly twelve hundred and fifteen roubles to the school. In the meanwhile, you shall return to your work and will be allowed to assist repairments. You will never do something like this again." He holds the two rings up in the air for emphasis, watching them glimmer gold. 

"Your Imperial Highness," the schoolteacher cries, throwing himself at the omega's feet in gratitude. "Thank you, thank you!" 

It is only after they return to the automobile does Phichit address the omega. "Was that wise? To forgive a thief?" 

Yuuri straightens in his seat, the two rings and their receipt burning warm in his pocket. "Perhaps, perhaps not. But you see, Phichit-kun, he is now in debt to me. Whether he chooses to work his debt off is entirely up to him." 


	5. Chapter 4

As Yuuri’s pregnancy progresses, the omega rarely ventures outside Mariyinsky Palace to the relief of his husband. He still receives daily reports of repairments and upgrades. Phichit personally observes each improvement daily, acting as Yuuri's eyes. The months quickly pass by, the second Prime Minister stepping down merely months after he was appointed. In the newspapers, Yuuri reads Pyotr Stolypin, the Minister of Interior, has been appointed Prime Minister. Hopefully, this Prime Minister will last longer than Sergei Witte and Ivan Goremykin. 

It's the middle of August when Phichit sits down with him in the drawing room. In Japanese, he informs, "The schools have reopened, but there is only a small improvement in attendance." 

"Is there still an attendance fee?" 

"Yes," the assistant confirms. "Four to ten roubles, depending on the school. It's high for the price of education. Mr. Popovich believes if we remove the attendance fee by subsidizing it, there will be more students." 

The omega runs circles over his protruding belly. "The problem is that the management of the schools still largely falls to the city government." Yuuri closes his eyes, trying to see a solution. "Find whoever is in charge of the schools. Tell them to remove the attendance fee and that I will be paying for the students." 

"Yes," Phichit agrees, nodding. “This would be easier if we have the schools under your command instead of pushing through the bureaucracy.” 

The omega reopens his eyes, smiling at the idea. “If I open a school, then I should control it. The school should be on my land using my buildings and filled with teachers I hire.” 

“Technically, Viktor’s land,” the assistant corrects. In a lower voice, he adds, “I’m surprised at how accommodating he is.” 

“Yes,” Yuuri agrees, though he does not admit how enigmatic the alpha is. Why does he assist Yuuri so much? Does he believe in what Yuuri does or does he believe that going along with Yuuri’s whims would make everyone happier all around? Sometimes, he wonders if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Also, Miss Babicheva is waiting for you outside. She just arrived." 

"Ten minutes early. As always." Yuuri shuts his book and rises from the sofa. Guards bow their heads as he walks past them with Phichit following three steps behind. “I hope she wasn’t waiting too long.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“Good morning, Lyudmila Mikhailovna,” Yuuri greets, his Russian strained by his Japanese accent. The other omega has helped over the months with his pronunciation, though she does not know how developed Yuuri’s understanding of Russian actually is. He sits down at the table, his fingers dancing on the white tablecloth. In Japanese, he inquires, “How are you?” 

Phichit rapidly translates Yuuri’s words into Russian. 

Mila nods, listening to Phichit's words. Once the assistant stops translating, she replies, "I'm doing good. Finally having new jobs again. Old customers are coming back. Still not where I was two years ago, but it is manageable." She pauses and says, "I heard of what you've done with the schools. My neighbors talked about it."

"Oh?" Yuuri leans forward. "What did they think?" 

The other omega frowns slightly, granting her attention to her tea. "They all know repairments have been done to the school, but they won't consider sending their children there. The father does, but the mother won't. Not when they have so little and can't afford the attendance fee." 

"I heard the attendance fee is a major barrier to education." Yuuri doesn’t mention his plan to subsidize the attendance fee. Phichit has yet to inform the city of Kiev, and the omega doesn’t want to give false hope. 

She nods. "If you worked at a factory or worked at the sugar refinery, you would be able to afford the fee. You would be making around two to three hundred roubles per year, but most people in Kiev earn far less than that. Besides, it's sometimes better for the family for the children to work." 

The omega blinks. “I thought the current labor laws forbid children to work.” 

She laughs, once she hears the translation. “Oh, no. The law forbids children under twelve from working, but it does not stop anyone from hiring children under twelve. You must understand that families _need_ children to be working. They don’t make enough to support an extra mouth to feed. As for the laws, they’re not enforced by the police or by anyone at all. For those who do follow the laws, they merely send their children to the fields to help farm, where the work is more plentiful anyhow. The only families who can send their children to school are the ones who can afford it.” At the disappointed look on Yuuri's face, she quickly reassures, "Do not get me wrong. The repairment of schools is perhaps the biggest project anyone has done for the children, but not everyone can use it."

* * *

As Yuuri’s belly expands and the babe slumbering within begins moving to express themselves, Viktor attends military training less frequently. The omega doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed at times. Sometimes, he would like to tear out Viktor’s silver hair whenever the alpha irritates him so, but at other times, he would like nothing better than to feel his alpha’s hands warmly pressing against his extended stomach, feeling their baby kick underneath Yuuri’s skin. 

This is one such moment where Yuuri feels collected, wonderfully warm as if he is surrounded by love and comfort. He lies in bed on his side as Viktor’s ear presses against his stomach and listens as his alpha croons a lullaby. 

“You’re going to be wonderful. We love you,” Viktor whispers in Russian. “We love you so much.” A pause as he turns his head and glances up at Yuuri. Switching to English, he softly admits, “I’m afraid.” 

“Why?” 

“I’m afraid of sickness, of ill health, of diseases.” Viktor closes his eyes and reveals, “Little Alyosha was not born in good health, and he must always tread carefully for the rest of his life because of his disease.” 

“Who is Alyosha?” 

“The Tsesarevich.” 

Summoning concern in his voice, Yuuri attempts not to reveal a shred of the excitement he feels. “What troubles him?” Most of the world knows there is something sick about the heir to the Russian throne, but only a few know the exact reason. If Yuuri plays his cards correctly, Viktor could tell him exactly what befalls the heir. 

“A disease called hemophilia.”

Yuuri blinks. The name of this disease does not strike any memory. “What does it do?” 

“Alyosha, if a cut strikes his finger or if his skin bruises or if his nose decides to bleed, may die from severe blood loss. We've been lucky so far, but Nicky called me earlier today. He got another cut, and they're all worried that the worst may happen. His cut still hasn't clotted yet. Last I've heard is that they sent for someone to pray for him."

"There may not be much we can do for Alyosha from Kiev other than pray," Yuuri pauses, carefully selecting his words, "but for our babe, we can send for more doctors to assist at every step to ensure he will be well-taken care of. I know a few doctors in America who specialize in children's medicine." 

"He?" This brings a smile to the alpha's face. "You believe it's a boy?" 

"A boy," Yuuri echoes, agreeing. "I dreamed it would be a boy with your hair, nose, and eyes. Lips. All of your best features." 

Viktor pouts. "I was hoping he had your best features. Eyes." A pause. "But I will be equally happy if the babe is a girl as long as she has ten fingers, ten toes, and plenty of years to live." In a whisper, he adds, "I hope she outlives us." 

The omega's hand finds Viktor's hair. He plays with a strand and adds, "I hope they all outlive us." 

Viktor's lips form into a tentative smile. "They?" 

"Yes. They."

* * *

The next morning finds Yuuri with his journal as he perches by the window overlooking the gardens. He taps the end of his fountain pen against his lips, watching the birds fly over the curated trees. The information Viktor told him lingers in the omega's mind. He, like Viktor, hopes their child will never face a disease like hemophilia. However, this newfound knowledge is something Yuuri can use. 

It's far too easy to arrange his nephew's death. A simple cut caused by a piece of paper or a blade is all the same to the child. He merely has to let the information slip to Morooka, who can easily finish off the rivaling child without anyone the wiser. But of course, the timing is wrong. 

The Tsarina is thirty-four years old. It's not too late for her to deliver another son, and it's not ideal to remove the heir any time soon. No, it's better to wait and bide for the right moment to strike, if Yuuri ever needs to strike. He can wait ten years for the Tsarina to be forty-four, far too old to bear another child, while Yuuri produces his heir and spare in the meantime. He can let someone kill him or let time finish him. A disease like that only needs a small opportunity to present itself. 

A knock at the door draws Yuuri's attention. He barely turns and voices, "Please come in." 

Yuuko does, leaving the door open. In Japanese, she announces, "I have finished sending the telegram for you, and I would like to introduce you to a new maid." 

"Ah," Yuuri hums, remembering Yuuko mentioning it earlier at breakfast. "He arrived last night, correct?" 

"Yes, from Japan," Yuuko confirms. "He speaks only English and Mandarin, so it is somewhat difficult to communicate even with hand signals, but he is an excellent worker." 

"He worked at my sister's household." Details about the new maid return to Yuuri. "I was not given a reason why he decided to venture all the way to Russia." 

"I was not given a detailed explanation, but he caught the unwanted attention of Major Saito. He heard there was a job opening in Kiev and quickly took the chance to leave Japan," Yuuko mentions. 

"No need to say any more. I have heard of him," the omega replies, frowning. Major Saito of the Japanese Imperial Army is the alpha son of the Emperor's advisor in trade. Yuuri has never met him before, but his reputation is quite infamous among the military circles. He's the kind of person who enjoys a difficult challenge and leaves behind a long string of ex-lovers. He's the kind of alpha Yuuri thought Viktor might have been, but he has yet to see proof of any unruly behavior. 

"Guang Hong," Yuuko says in English, her mouth strained as she struggles in the unfamiliar foreign language. "Please come in." 

An omega in a black and white dress steps through the doorway. He's short, and his eyes are downcast. He inclines his head and immediately greets in English, "Good afternoon, Your Highness." 

"Please, no need to curtsey when I don't have company," Yuuri replies, returning his nod. "I would rather not waste time on unnecessary manners when we can get right to business. Please. I haven't heard much about my sister and my nephew in her letters. How are they? Do they look well?" 

Guang Hong nods. "Yes, quite hale and happy. Kenjirou started school last week, and he's keeping up with the other children in games. Mari-san insisted on him attending an actual school over the guidance of a governess." 

"Oh." Yuuri smiles, wondering what his nephew looks like now. He hasn't seen the child in over a year. Kenjirou takes after his father. 

"Your Highness, do you need anything?" 

The omega shakes his head. "Not at this moment, but let me ask you a question. How old are you?" 

"Seventeen." 

Yuuri lifts an eyebrow at the age, but he does not comment any further on it. "Welcome to Kiev." 

"Thank you." 

"Please get a fresh orange. No need to peel," he says to the new maid. Once Guang Hong leaves the room, he turns to Yuuko, pushing his spectacles up. He switches to Japanese. "Is he replacing the previous maid?" 

"Yes. Most of the palace's staff has been replaced or retired except for your husband's. He has his own guards and assistants," Yuuko informs. "We have a few we must train and three original servants who have yet to retire. I'm afraid they either need the job or like the job." 

“Are they good?”

“Very good,” she answers, clasping her hands over her apron. “They are dedicated to their job, they don’t gossip or talk, and they do what they’re told. I can find no fault in their work, and I can find no reasonable ground for termination.” 

“Then they shall remain. It’s the only reasonable action we can take.” Yuuri’s lips turn upwards as he returns to his journal, lifting his pen to the page.

* * *

Yuuri screams as unbearable pain claws at him from the inside. Viktor murmurs words of encouragement, but the omega recognizes none of the words. Sweat beads from his temple as he breathes rapidly, his fingers digging into his own palms in an effort to forget the pain. He shuts his eyes, a rapid flurry of stars winking at him. Not real stars. An illusion born out of agony, and Yuuri’s addled brain seizes on the only thought he can form, the last shred of will he possesses. 

He’s nearly there. He almost has his heir. He can taste his first victory. 

"Oh!" cries the doctor in Russian. "Oh, tell His Highness that the baby is out!" 

"Baby?" Yuuri mumbles weakly in Japanese, lifting his head. His neck barely moves, the weight unbearable. "Baby? My son?" 

"Your Highness, your arms please," says the doctor. A mess of white fabric is placed gently into the alpha's arms. "What name have you chosen, Your Highness?" 

"Ekaterina. For the most beautiful girl." Viktor smiles and turns to the omega lying in bed. "It's a girl." 

And there, a great sea of crushing disappointment rises in Yuuri's throat, choking the omega. He truly believed it would be a son.

* * *

_"That is a wonderful name for a boy," Viktor said, leaning back in his chair as he smiled. "It fits him perfectly, and its meaning matches your name."_

_"It means farmer?" Yuuri bristled at that thought. He held nothing against farmers and believed they played an important role in society, but if he never had to spend a day farming in his life, he would be quite happy indeed. He detested being called a farmer, even indirectly so, and would hate for his child to bear a name with that particular meaning._

_The alpha laughed. "No, I meant your Japanese name. Courage, right? This name means brave, and I think it fits."_

_Yuuri glanced off at Viktor's shelf of books written in French. Though he did not want to consider the possibility of a girl, he asked, “What are your choices for a girl?”_

_“I have a few.” Viktor flipped through his journal, searching for his list. “They’re all scattered in here, but I wrote a few down a week ago. Would you like to hear them?”_

_The omega nodded. Then he added, “But please, I don’t want our children to be called Maria, Tatiana, Olga, or Anastasia. I don’t want my children to be confused whenever someone calls their name. It’s like what I said about Nikolai and Pyotr and Alexander. There’s too many of them. It is like old French kings. There were almost twenty kings named Louis. After the first three, I think they all blend together.”_

_Viktor glanced down at his entry and silently crossed off a few lines. Still looking quite hopeful despite the eliminations, he said aloud, “This is what I have so far. Yelena, Irina, Nadia, Zoya.”_

_Yuuri returned his attention to his alpha. “What do they mean?”_

_“Yelena is Helen, meaning light. Irina is peace. Nadia means hope. Zoya means life.” He paused, hesitating as he stared at a line. “There is one name I do like and prefer over all.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Ekaterina. Or in English, Catherine.”_

_“That’s a powerful name with an encompassing background,” Yuuri mused, mulling over Catherine the Great, a former German princess who was married to the Russian heir. After the death of Empress Elizaveta and the ascension of her husband, she arranged a coup d'état that secured her place on the throne. She was notable for being an omega in one of the most powerful positions in the entire world and reigned for decades, presiding over Russia's golden age. "What does Ekaterina mean?”_

_“They don’t know. It comes from a saint who died a long time ago, but I do like the name.”_

_“Ekaterina.” Yuuri tasted the name on his tongue. Not a bad name at all. “She wouldn’t be the fifteenth Ekaterina? Correct?”_

_“There have been a few Ekaterinas as Grand Duchess,” Viktor noted. “If you don’t like it, we could choose something else. Something a little more original.”_

_“It doesn’t matter as long as there isn’t a Ekaterina alive someone might confuse her with.”_

_“No. There’s no one else.” Then Viktor laughed. "Well, if she ever becomes Empress, she would be called Ekaterina the Third, the third after Ekaterina and Ekaterina the Great. But it's a far cry from being Louis the Eighteenth."_

* * *

Yuuri's body mends slowly after the ordeal, but he barely notices his limitations as he watches Ekaterina in wonder. Despite the truth that his firstborn is a girl, Yuuri finds solace that his daughter has been born with ten fingers, ten toes, and all of Viktor's best features. She has inherited his hair coloring, his smile, his dimples, and his azure eyes. They say the firstborn child always resembles their sire, but Yuuri has never expected a similarity of this degree. 

In a blink of an eye, the omega finds himself in St. Petersburg, celebrating Christmas with the rest of Viktor's family with Ekaterina slumbering peacefully in his arms. Yuuri, though he will never mention it aloud, is relieved she's behaving quite well. She cried and cried on the train, apparently disliking the rocky motions. The omega felt bad for everyone on the train as people came up to him to compliment Ekaterina's powerful pair of lungs. Three claimed she would make an excellent singer one day. 

"Yuri," the Tsarina acknowledges, wearing a flattering gold-white floor-length dress with a blue sash, which represents the Order of St. Andrew, crossing her torso. She dazzles, lavishly lined with diamonds and rubies. "Congratulations on your daughter. A wonderful blessing." 

"Thank you." 

"Daughters are a gift," she adds with a beaming smile. "They grow up so quickly, so you should live every single moment with them. I remember when my oldest was only a baby. So tiny." For emphasis, she demonstrates Olga's approximate size. "Cherish her." 

"Thank you, and I will." Then Yuuri watches her stroll away, her head held high. She acts differently than last year, and he suspects it's because she is internally celebrating the birth of a girl. A girl is no contender to the Russian throne, and Alexei's place remains secured. Unlike Yuuri, she suffered from having four daughters, none of them capable of inheriting the throne. He knows that the Russian people have questioned her for years prior to the heir’s birth whether or not she is fit to be Tsarina. 

“Oh, a beautiful girl,” says Tyotya Maria in English, sighing. She smiles upon the sleeping face of the babe and muses, “She looks just like Vitya. The resemblance is uncanny. If she’s anything like what Vitya was like as a child, you will have your hands full. Hire a few nannies is my recommendation. You will be eternally thankful for their help.” A pause as she sighs again in content. “May I hold her?” 

“Yes, of course.” With no small amount of care, Yuuri slowly places his firstborn in his mother-in-law’s arms. 

“Little Katya, beautiful child,” she sings softly. Then she glances at Yuuri. “I was in Europe, but you should have told me to come while you were in labor. I could have helped, and it gives me no greater joy and pleasure than to see another grandchild be born.”

“Then I’ll send for a telegram for next time.” And Yuuri glances at the double doors opening, the glimmering banquet hall stretching just beyond the doorway. Children rush in, screaming in delight and forgetting all their manners as they find their Christmas tree. He finds Viktor cheerfully greeting his nieces and nephews, kneeling down to better converse with the children. He looks like a good father. 

He _is_ a good father. 

“Next time?”

He forcibly returns his eyes to Tyotya Maria, nodding. “Yes, next time. I would hate for Katyusha to be the only child in the family. It’s not the way I grew up.”

“It’s not the way Vitya grew up either.” She smiles. “The palace was never silent, and someone was always making noise until the dark hours of the night. He grew up with four siblings.”

“I, with one.” 

“It’s a shame your sister couldn’t come.” 

“Maybe when Kenjirou is older. She’s not willing to leave Japan without him until then. She made a great exception for my wedding,” Yuuri says.

* * *

Yuuko raps at the open door, careful not to step inside the bedroom. She adjusts her apron and then flattens her lace collar, which hides half of Takeshi's mating bite. "There is a Doctor Leo de la Iglesia here to see you. He is waiting in the drawing room." The Japanese maid butchers the doctor's name completely, unfamiliar with the pronunciation of his family name. 

"I will be right down," the omega informs. "Is Ekaterina still with Guang Hong?" 

"Yes. She's sleeping soundly. Would you like me to fetch her?" 

"No, let her sleep. The doctor will have plenty of time to examine her later," Yuuri says, shaking his head. He pulls on a black woven shawl and slips on matching shoes, following Yuuko to the drawing room. "After you announce me, please get Takeshi. I think the good doctor would like to see the face of an old patient." 

"Of course." She pauses in her step and switches to English. "His Imperial Highness, Yuri Alekseevich." Then she steps aside to allow Yuuri through and discreetly backs away, hurrying to find the guard. 

The American doctor rises from the ivory armchair with gold-spun thread. "Please tell me I do not have to call you Yuri Alekseevich. It is far too strange." 

"No, you don't have to." Yuuri smiles and sits in his usual armchair. "It's been many years. I'm glad you were able to respond to my telegram. I thought you would be quite busy with patients." 

"Yes, but I'm only a general physician. I know a bit of everything in medicine," he says, turning his head towards the approaching footfalls. "Oh, Takeshi. It's great to see you again. How is the arm? You haven't been doing tricks involving automobiles, have you?" 

"Good," the guard answers, his hands folded in front of him in perfect attention. "No, I drive slower now." 

The doctor laughs. "Takeshi, that is good to hear. Now, shall I examine the little princess?” 

“She’s sleeping at the moment,” Yuuri says, rising from his chair. “I would rather you not bother her, but I hope that you can examine me.” 

“Of course. Is there a room here we can use?” he inquires, glancing at the drawing room’s decor and peering at the windows. “This room is rather unsuitable for examinations. Excellent lighting, however.” 

“Yes. We have a nurse’s office that no one uses. We haven’t hired a full-time doctor yet,” Yuuri answers, the hint of suggestion in his tone. He gestures for the doctor to follow him to the examination room. “The job pays very well, Leo.” 

"I'm not willing to stay in Russia for years," Leo dismisses. "But I will be here for a few months for Ekaterina's personal care until you can find a full-time doctor." 

"What did you leave behind in America?" 

"Family and a job at a hospital in Philadelphia," he answers. "The job is not guaranteed to be held for me, but I can't imagine living in a place far from home for years." 

"How old are you now?" Yuuri inquires, popping the door open. The examination room is equipped with electric lights but is rather stuffy. It smells as if no one has opened the windows in a long time. 

"Twenty-nine." 

"No children?" 

"I haven't found anyone to mate, but all is well. I'm happy to be focused on my work and, when I have spare time, my music." A pause as Leo lifts his satchel off his shoulder and plants it on the table, retrieving his instruments. "Please sit down on the bed. I will need you to remove your layers. You can keep your chemise on." He turns, granting Yuuri an illusion of privacy as he washes his hands in the sink. 

Yuuri does, awkwardly stripping out of his shawl and his thick dress. He climbs onto the bed, sitting at the edge as the doctor approaches him with a stethoscope. He tenses slightly at the cold touch of the metal despite the layer of his chemise. 

"Breathe in and out slowly and deeply." Then Leo listens carefully. He sets aside the stethoscope, tugging the ends out of his ears. "Wrist please. I need to check your pulse." He does, silently counting for a minute. Then he walks over to his satchel and pulls out a bound notebook, scribbling down a few notes. Then he finds another instrument. "Chin up, please." 

Yuuri lifts his head, trying not to sneeze as the doctor examines his nose.

"You need to drink more water," the doctor advises, pulling away from the omega. "You seem a little dry." 

“I keep forgetting to. I will try to keep a glass of water around at all times then.” Then omega adds, "I gave birth to Ekaterina last September. It was an arduous process. I almost never want to go through one again." 

"There are options and methods for birth control if you never want to get pregnant again," the doctor says, walking over to the sink to wash and rinse his instruments. “Condoms are the easiest option. Abstinence is less of a choice but possible.” 

“I want to know if I’m ready by the time my next heat comes around.” 

“Oh,” the doctor pauses, absorbing that information. “You’re still rather young, and your next heat should be around late January and early February.” 

“Yes.” 

“You are, without a doubt, capable of becoming pregnant after that heat,” the doctor concludes. “But I would advise that you avoid conceiving until your heat in early June. Ideally, you want a year between each birth, so you do not fall too weak and have a poor pregnancy. Poor pregnancies lead to a higher chance of miscarriages and deformities.” 

Yuuri nods. "Do you find anything to be alarming?" 

"No, everything seems to be in order. Well, you do need more water, but that's easily fixed. Are you in pain anywhere?" 

"No, not at all." 

"That's good. No pain is a good sign," the doctor concludes. "I shall wait for the little princess to wake up and examine her as soon as you wish." 

"That would be excellent." 

The doctor shakes droplets of water off his instruments. "In the meanwhile, Miss Yuuko said there is a room for me here?" 

“Yes, she will show you the room,” Yuuri says. He gestures to the pile of clothes resting on the chair. “May I get dressed now?” 

“Yes, the examination is done.” 

Once Yuuri returns to the drawing room and Yuuko confirms that the doctor has settled in his room, he orders for a glass of water and a pitcher with a slice of lemon. He waits for Yuuko to return again with the tray. 

“Is there anything else you need?” the maid inquires, placing the tray on the coffee table. 

“Ekaterina needs to be examined by the doctor when she wakes up from her sleep,” Yuuri answers in Japanese. “And. . .” He taps his fingers on the armchair, thinking. He would rather have Leo as the full-time doctor over any other Russian doctors here. He knows Leo from before he presented as an omega, and he knows Leo is capable of treating any patient well, regardless of their stature and position and wealth. He can be an asset in Russia. 

He only needs a reason to stay. 

“Is there anything else?” Yuuko repeats, prompting. 

Reaching for the glass of water, the omega sips. “Yes. Have Guang Hong attend to the doctor. Whatever he asks for. Within reason, of course.” 

“I’ll let him know right away.”

* * *

“Your Highness,” the schoolteacher says, pausing in his steps as he places new books on the students’ desk in preparation for the start of the new semester. He inclines his head respectfully. Then he places the remaining pile of books on the teacher’s desk, setting it right beside the typewriter. “I didn’t realize you would return to the school. I thought you would be resting much longer.” 

“It’s January,” Yuuri says in Japanese with Phichit translating besides him. “I’m more than ready to learn Russian under your tutelage, and I’ve been here long enough to know some of the basics.” 

“You wish to have private lessons?”

The omega laughs. “No, I wish to be in the classroom. I will be joining your class along with Katyusha at times.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.” Then he adds, nervously straightening his tie, “Your improvements to the school and the addition of supplies such as books and papers have done much good.” 

“But not enough.” 

“Your Highness? What more can you do?” Georgi Popovich asks, puzzled. “You have already provided so much for the school. New books, improvements like new roofs and buildings, the addition of a kitchen, plumbing, electric light bulbs, a new library, new swings, paper, pens, pencils, typewriters for all the teachers in Kiev. With the removal of the attendance fee, there are more children in school than ever before.” 

“How many children aren’t attending school?” 

The schoolteacher pauses. “I don’t know.” 

"Plenty enough aren't. They work in the fields and factories instead of receiving an education." Yuuri sighs, gazing out of the windows. How can he help the schools? In Japan, the Minister of Education can wake up from her bed at eleven in the morning and know precisely which textbook all the twelve year olds are studying in school at that very moment. In Russia, it's the opposite. It's every student out for themselves, whether in factories, farmlands, or in classrooms. After staying up all night with Ekaterina to feed her, Yuuri found the answer in Mila. 

"I don't think there is anything we can do. We put out posters, and we encourage parents to enroll their children. What other options do we have?" 

"Food," Yuuri answers. "Food." 

* * *

The line of peasants with enrollment applications makes the Japanese guards nervous. Takeshi, wearing his black uniform, tries not to visibly react. He whispers, "The people haven’t noticed you yet. I don't think you should be here. There are so many people, and a stampede could happen in the chaos. The police have sent all of their officers, but it's impossible to retain complete order." 

"Well, how many are here?" 

"The number is in the tens of thousands," the guard answers, pushing past parents and the occasional child. "It is not as bad as the riots, because people are leaving once they drop their enrollment forms off." 

Yuuri almost sees the front, the tables set up to receive the enrollment forms. The line stretches around the school buildings and interferes with the local businesses. The omega has heard no less than ten complaints from Phichit, who is in charge of enrollment. "Why are they turning people away?" 

"They are?" 

Yuuri bunches up his dress and hurries over to the table, his hand placed on the shoulder of the peasants. In rough Russian, he says, "Please wait. Enrollment forms?" 

"Your Highness," the woman murmurs in surprise. To her husband, she whispers, "It's the Japanese prince." 

"Yuri Alekseevich?" the husband gasps in surprise. There's no hate in his eyes, the sort of hate bled over from the war between Russia and Japan. In rapid Russian, he says, "Please, you must assist us. They turned us away, but we have everything filled out perfectly." 

"Mr. Popovich," Yuuri shouts in Russian, his accent loud and noticeable. He ignores the eyes of curious onlookers boring holes into his back. Grabbing the enrollment forms from the couple, he places it on top of Georgi's list. "Please." 

He glances between Yuuri and the peasant couple. In a smaller voice, the schoolteacher whispers, "But they are Ukrainian." 

"Enroll. Them." Yuuri reiterates pointedly. To Takeshi, he says in Japanese, "Tell them that their child will be enrolled in school." 

Takeshi does, his Russian clear despite the syllables marred by his strong Japanese accent. 

The schoolteacher does what he's told, taking down their information. In Russian, he addresses the couple, "Based on your address, your child has been assigned to Elementary No. 3. Class begins at eight in the morning on January 28th. Do not be late. Next!" 

Yuuri turns to his guard. Switching back to Japanese, he orders, "Have someone check if anyone else has been turned away. Do not let them leave until they've registered." 

"Yes, Your Highness," Takeshi confirms.

* * *

"Ukrainians, Jews, and Muslims?" 

"Among other groups, yes," Phichit confirms. He pointedly glares at the schoolteacher, who has been officially invited to speak to Yuuri at the palace. Georgi Popovich knows better than to turn down the invitation. 

"It is the Tsar's official policy," the schoolteacher tries, sifting nervously in his seat. "He especially does not want Jews in the public schools." 

Yuuri is befuddled by this. They're children. What does it matter whether they're Jews or Muslims or the poorest of the poor? "Odd, but I don't care about if the students are the children of devils and demons alike. They _all_ must attend school, and no one should have been turned away. They are here to learn, and Mr. Popovich, you have the duty to teach them regardless of their perceived shortcomings and your own prejudices." 

Besides, ignoring one group does nothing for him. He must gain the alliance of all the people, and being selective will not bring favors to anyone. The success of this program will make people forget what Japan had done in 1905 and bring Yuuri closer to their hearts. 

"Parents can still drop off their enrollment forms at the city office," Phichit points out in Japanese. "That is also picking up a few students here and there." 

"This program," Georgi starts. "It's expensive but impressive. From the preliminary enrollment numbers, we may actually have twice the amount of students, but we do not have enough schools to teach them. School starts in two weeks, and I don't know how His Highness will find enough teachers and room for all of them." 

"The city is working on it," Phichit replies in Russian. "They may decide to open the school in early February to better accommodate all the students. A month of preparation will be more than enough for us." 

A knock at the doorway draws all of their attention to Yuuri's husband, looking dashing in his military service uniform. He raises an eyebrow and waves at Georgi. "No need to stand up. I merely came here to congratulate my husband on getting enrollment numbers up. The city of Kiev has been struggling for decades to incentivize education. Yuura is so brilliant." He says the last part with a smiling sigh. 

"He is, Your Highness," the schoolteacher agrees, his face stoic. "I appreciate the support the schools are receiving." 

"Yet I overheard that there aren't enough teachers and classrooms for the students." Viktor frowns at that. "If Yuura doesn't mind, I can set aside land for the creation of additional schools. That way, there are no students without a place to study and learn." 

Georgi can’t summon up a word. His mouth opens and closes, gaping like a fish out of water. 

Before anyone can say anything further, Yuuko clears her throat. “Your Imperial Highness, we have some unexpected visitors. I don’t know if you would like to receive them. They claim they are from a society called Prosvita.” 

The schoolteacher finds his voice. “That’s a Ukrainian society of teachers and intellectuals who promote the Ukrainian way, including education and culture.” 

“How many are there?” Yuuri inquires, his eyes finding Viktor’s. The alpha appears merely interested in the proceedings, but he does not voice a comment. 

“Two,” Yuuko answers. “Two men.” 

“Let them in,” Yuuri commands.

Two men walk in, their dirty boots heavy on the polished floor. Both men are dark-haired, wearing thick coats suited for the winter. Both of them glance around the drawing room, pausing in identical surprise when they notice Viktor’s presence. As if they’ve practiced, they bow in synchronized movements to the Grand Duke. “Your Highness.” 

“No need,” Viktor says in Russian, dismissing their bows with a wave of his hand. “Pretend I’m not here. Please carry on.” He takes a few steps backwards, leaning inconspicuously against the wall. 

They do, nervously glancing at the alpha. 

With Phichit translating by his side, Yuuri says, “Please introduce yourselves.”

“Your Highness, I’m Volodymyr Pavlovych Naumenko. This is Borys Ivanovych Yanukovych. He is a schoolteacher from Lviv. We are pleased that you have welcomed us into your home, and we apologize for not petitioning an official request to have Your Highness’ attention.” A pause as he nervously strokes his grey-black beard, his eyes briefly noticing Viktor once again. “We are concerned with the curriculum of the schools.” 

“Those curriculums have been set by the city of Kiev,” Yuuri replies, his eyes carefully watching the two men. “I do not have any control over what is taught in the schools. I have only spearheaded the physical improvements of the schools and sought to increase enrollment across all schools in Kiev. You said you are from Prosvita?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Volodymyr Pavlovych confirms, nodding. 

“What is Prosvita?”

He glances nervously at Viktor once again. It’s clear to the omega that Volodymyr Pavlovych did not expect the Grand Duke’s presence and does not feel free to speak within the earshot of the alpha. He finally answers, “It’s a society. We promote reading, learning, and education. We would like to congratulate you for a successful program.” His words are stilted, awkward. He has something he wants to say, but he believes he can’t say it in front of Viktor. 

As casually as possible, Yuuri rearranges the tea tray on the coffee table. He turns to Viktor and asks in English, “Vitya, do you mind checking up on Katyusha? Try not to disturb her too much while she sleeps.” 

“Of course, zolotse,” Viktor immediately answers, straightening his posture. He tips his head as he walks by the two men. In Russian, he politely says, “Have a wonderful afternoon.” 

“You too, Your Highness,” Volodymyr Pavlovych nods. 

They merely exist in silence for one minute and then two. 

Finally, Volodymyr Pavlovych speaks again, gaining confidence. “Your Highness, I hope to find you a reasonable figure. I know that you, as Japanese, are a foreigner in this land and unaware of the struggles between the Ukrainian people and the Russian people.” He passes a glare towards Georgi Popovich and continues, “With the introduction of your program, there are far less Ukrainian students taught by Ukrainian teachers.” 

That is, ironically, the point. The omega wants _all_ students in Kiev to use his program. Yuuri listens to Phichit’s translation, waiting for the assistant to stop speaking. Then he carefully crafts his next sentence. “Mr. Naumenko, my goal is to ensure every child in Kiev has an education and can read, write, and speak. If they achieve these skills, then it's a victory for all." 

"Yes, I agree, but. . ." He stumbles, his hands moving as if he can summon up his thoughts. "Your Highness, your daughter, Ekaterina Viktorovna, and I must congratulate her birth, but will she know anything of your culture?" 

"Specify that." 

Gaining momentum, he inquires, "Will she know anything of Japan? Will she learn the language? Will she know the particular way Japanese people dress? Will she know the traditions, the dances, the music?" He pushes forward, emboldened now by his comparison. "That's what I want for Ukrainians, Your Highness. A place where they, too, can learn their past." 

Yuuri mulls over the man's words. He knows from the old census that Ukrainians make up a decent proportion of the population. He can't afford to look bad in front of them, but he's not certain how well Russians will take this proposal. Badly, from the look on Georgi Popovich's face. Then he finally says, "I agree. Your request is reasonable. I, for one, will not want my daughter and any of my future children to be reared ignorant of their past. However, there must be some standards set, so listen carefully." 

Borys Ivanovych slips a pencil out of his pocket, quickly jotting down Yuuri's words on a spare sheet of paper. 

"Ukrainian teachers are permitted to teach at the school but only after class has been finished. This class, which will teach primarily language and writing, will accept any student willing to learn. You can't force a student to attend nor can you deny a student an opportunity to educate themselves. This is the newly passed policy that applies to all schools in Kiev.” Yuuri tries not to glare at Georgi Popovich as he speaks this statement. “They can't turn anyone away as long as the child is within the age range. Do you understand?" 

The man slowly nods, and he bows. "I believe those terms are acceptable. But do we need to rent a classroom?" 

"No, I believe the schools will hire the teachers." 

A stricken look crosses his face. Demurred, he hedges, "Your Highness, I'm not certain of how familiar you are with the ways of Russia, but sometimes, teachers may be discouraged from teaching the curriculum due to pressure from outside forces who believe they should not be teaching children certain material. I would feel more confident if we paid the teachers." 

"If they're not properly teaching the students in any curriculum, any subject at all, they can report to me," Yuuri says. "I do not like students who are not learning and especially people who stand in the way of their education." 

"Yes, Your Highness." 

"I will put forth this proposal, so the city of Kiev can decide on it." 

"They'll be certain to listen, and they will pass it." 

"How can you be certain?" Yuuri lifts a cup of tea to his lips. 

"This is the first time anyone has taken a large interest in the schools. They would do anything to ensure the quality and maintenance of the schools. You're a donor, the biggest one they ever had. Besides, for many children, this year will be the first time ever they've attended school. This program represents hope for many students and their parents." Volodymyr Pavlovych scratches his beard. "Sorry, Your Highness. I've gotten distracted. I do have one more proposal." 

"Yes?" 

"We send books every month to paying members of our society. For their children, you see. I have a suggestion that you do this but on a wider scale." 

Yuuri sees his idea. "You want me to send a book to every child in Kiev? Every month?" 

"Your Highness, it encourages children to read. It helps them achieve their skills. Reading, writing, and language." 

A pause. Yuuri considers it. It's not a bad idea at all, and this way, every child in Kiev will know what he has done for them. He nods and smiles. “This is a reasonable request. Is there anything else you would like to tell me?”

He shakes his head. “No, that is all. Thank you for your audience, Your Highness.” He bows deeply, every movement and expression sincere.

* * *

Yuuri has not forgotten about the Tsesarevich’s illness. In fact, the secret weighs on Yuuri's mind, rolling around like a marble inside the omega's head. What should he do with this information? What could he do with this? 

It's far too simple for Yuuri to write a note in his journal. He merely has to scratch out in Japanese, _give a small cut to the heir._ Then he rips out that sheet of paper and calls forth Morooka, who is well-versed in simple orders and knows what needs to be done. But the boy can't die just yet. The Tsarina is still young enough to bear another child, so Yuuri must wait. 

He rises from his chair by the window and shuffles closer to the crib where his daughter slumbers peacefully within. He's lucky to be blessed with a healthy girl despite how loud she screams, her sounds capable of rendering a man deaf. The priest who baptized her himself noted how impressive she is after the ceremony, a crack in his stern facade. 

“She’s so beautiful,” Viktor says, stepping into their bedroom. He reaches up to his neck and unravels his tie. 

“She takes after you.” 

“Hopefully not in spirit,” he jests. “I was told I was a troublemaking child.” 

“Tyotya Maria concurs.” 

“Mama has betrayed me,” Viktor concludes, sniffling. He wipes an invisible tear from his cheek. Then he smiles and changes the subject. He sits in the armchair and pulls off his shoes. “They are impressed with you, Yuura.” 

“Who?” 

“The Ukrainians. Volodymyr Pavlovych Naumenko and Borys Ivanovych Yanukovych,” he answers. “I think they feel hopeful for the future of the schools in Kiev.” 

“That’s good.” Then Yuuri furrows his eyebrows. “How do you know?” 

“Mariyinsky Palace burned down decades ago, but when they rebuilt it, they discovered the old designs included secret passageways. Not everyone knows about the secret passageways, but if you find the right spots, you can listen to people’s conversations. Or you can slip out of bed at night and sneak down to the kitchen to steal a few cookies,” Viktor pointedly says. He arches a perfect eyebrow, as if knowing exactly how many times Yuuri has triggered the opening in the library to walk down the stairs and abscond into the pantry. 

Yuuri struggles not to react. 

“Zolotse, I did worry about you falling.” 

The omega squints. “Was that why you left cookies, fruits, and water by our bedside?” If that was the reason Viktor ordered for a constant array of food in the bedroom after claiming to possess an urge to eat at night, then his husband certainly knows the exact number of times Yuuri ventured through the passageway. And Yuuri thought he was being quite sneaky. 

"The old passageways were used for spies a long time ago. They're not anywhere around our bedroom except for the library's, but there is one leading to the gardens from her room." 

Alarmed, the omega asks, "Should we put her somewhere else?" 

He shakes his head. "It's not too dangerous, and it will take her a while to discover it. Besides, it might be good for her to know its existence in the chance that something terrible like a fire may happen." 

Or something like a large, encompassing group of angry protesters swarming the palace. 

"Yuura, go to sleep," his husband encourages. "You look tired, and you had an eventful day. Get some rest. I'll attend to her." 

The omega drifts in a haze between unconsciousness and reality. Does he truly see the curtains surrounding his bed or is it only his imagination? Is it only his dreams when he watches Viktor crooning a lullaby to Ekaterina? Is it a trick of the light when he sees his husband gently set the baby girl back into her crib? 

And is it all a grand illusion when Viktor presses a kiss against Yuuri’s forehead? His words echo, as if Yuuri is listening underwater. “Ya lyublyu tebya.” 

I love you.

* * *

“You have a visitor,” Yuuko says, knocking at the open doorway. 

“Not on my schedule.” 

“No. He’s the Minister of Education.” 

“Of the city of Kiev?” Yuuri tilts his head. He’s somewhat certain that the city government’s education official is not the Minister of Education, but he doesn’t know who else could use that title. 

“No, the Minister of Education of the Tsarist government. He came all the way from St. Petersburg to see you.” 

The omega supposes that the Minister of Education can call himself the Minister of Education. Yuuri sets down his journal, curious to hear the Minister’s words. “I will be in the drawing room in just a moment. Thank you.” He quickly changes his clothes, throwing a fur shawl over his arms. Walking slowly, he makes his way down the stairs and enters the drawing room. 

A grizzly man with grey-white hair and a thick beard instantly rises from his seat, pulling off his wool hat. In Russian, he says, “Your Highness. I appreciate that you are able to receive me on such short notice. I am Pyotr Mikhailovich Kaufman.” 

Phichit enters the drawing room a moment later. “Mr. Kaufman, I apologize that I’m late. His Highness is not familiar with the Russian language, and I will be acting on his behalf as a translator. I’m Phichit Chulanont.” 

“Mr. Chulanont, thank you.” 

Yuuri sinks into his armchair, his eyes finding Yuuko bringing a tray of tea and English crumpets. “Mr. Kaufman,” he states, once Phichit has finished his translation into Japanese, “it’s a surprise that you’ve come all the way from St. Petersburg to visit my home.” 

The man awkwardly laughs, his hat playing in his hands as he takes his own seat again. “Your Highness, I have friends in Kiev who occasionally write to me. I thought to come visit them, and of course, if you were receiving visitors, I hoped that I was able to converse with you about the schools in Kiev.” 

The omega sits back in his chair. Does the Tsar suddenly want to interfere with Yuuri’s plans for the schools? Does he want to demonstrate a small show of power in Kiev? 

“I’m not certain how well-informed you are in regards to the Duma.” 

“I’ve visited the first assembly,” Yuuri answers. 

He hums. “I’ve recently attempted to make public education mandatory across the entirety of Russia. It’s an encompassing bill I’ve submitted.” 

“From what I’ve heard about education, it’s an ambitious bill as well.” 

“Very ambitious,” Pyotr Mikhailovich adds, a deep frown penetrating his impressive beard. “It is still being decided upon by the Duma, and I don’t believe this bill will be passed any time soon. There is a growing concern centered around public education. Plenty of representatives from multiple political parties support this bill. Unfortunately, it is simply not Russia’s priority at this very moment.” 

“Rather silly,” Yuuri comments, sipping at his tea. “Why are Russia’s children not our priority? They are, after all, the future.” 

“Yes,” he agrees, smiling. “I do hope your program succeeds. It’s not anything close to a mandatory public education for all children, but I believe it could be a model for future public schools. Already, it is quite promising. If you manage to prove the success of your methods, we may be able to achieve universal public education without making it legally mandatory. It may be more palatable to the representatives in the Duma. Maybe even to the Tsar himself.” 

“School wouldn’t start until mid-February.” 

“More time to prepare for the great number of students. I hope you’re ready for them all.” 

Yuuri has placed Phichit in charge of it all. In turn, he has hired a few dozen assistants to determine the logistics and to calculate how much land they need to borrow from Viktor for the temporary schools. Fourteen additional schools are currently being planned, and out of the fourteen, ten of them will have erected buildings with running water and utilities by the end of year. A permanent home for those ten schools. They have yet to develop a plan for the remaining schools, but Phichit believes they will need to acquire farmland and local buildings to better accommodate those who live on the outskirts of Kiev. 

"Not ready yet. But we will be."

* * *

Yuuri does not attend the first day of school, though he longs to out of his own curiosity to see if the program has been successful. Instead, he sends Phichit in his place, who will travel from school to school to observe the program in action. He plays with his firstborn daughter, who is beginning to make sounds instead of screams. It's a strange sort of wonder to behold.

It's after the omega has finished feeding Ekaterina when Phichit knocks on the door and lets himself in once Yuuri grants his consent. He carefully rearranges the blankets around the sleeping girl, ensuring she does not feel cold. Kiev is not as cold as St. Petersburg, but it occasionally feels the same to Yuuri. 

"I have my report typed, if you would rather read it," Phichit whispers, noticing the babe in Yuuri's arms. 

"Place it on the desk and remove the clip. I'll read it," Yuuri says, gesturing to the empty desk. Moving slowly to not disturb the child, he slowly rocks and sways his way across the room and sits down in the chair. He barely notices Phichit taking his leave as he begins reading. 

According to the report, Phichit visited six out of the twenty-four schools. The rest were attended by his assistants. He observed that the schools were all overcrowded and stressed the need for the creation of more schools. The first day was chaotic as expected, but the teachers did not face a difficult challenge in keeping the children disciplined. For the free lunch program, the first grade classes went first. Then second and third and fourth. Every student expressed excitement about the food. Bread, cabbage soup, potatoes mixed with seasoning, and chicken. 

It's not much to Yuuri, who is used to eating fish, fruits, and other varieties, but to the children, it means everything. It means life. With careful arm placement, he scribbles a note to Phichit to hire additional chefs. He wants food to be among the best memories these children have when they recall their childhood years.

* * *

“Your Highness,” Georgi Popovich says, bowing to Yuuri now that the children have left for recess. “I didn’t expect you to return.” 

The omega smiles with Phichit translating besides him. “I retain a vested interest in the growth of the schools. I’m not the kind of person who does something and forgets about it. Projects such as these require constant care and management.” 

Georgi nods. “I’m beginning to see that, Your Highness.” A pause. “I haven’t forgotten about your original request, and I want to ask you a question. Are you ready to learn Russian?”

“Da,” Yuuri confirms. 

Phichit doesn’t need to translate that.

* * *

Yuuri doesn't attend class as frequently as the other students. He has his own duties. Occasionally, he must attend and entertain guests of varying importance. He receives Tyotya Maria in his drawing room while she's in between trips. She has visited various parts of Europe, preferring to stay far away from Russia. 

"I've been thinking about traveling to England again," she says. "It would be good for me to see new places, meet new people. It is time for me to move on." 

"Not permanently, right? I hope not." 

"No," she laughs. "Not permanently. I will come back, but I thought it would be nice to see my sister again." 

Alexandra of Denmark, the current Queen consort of England, is married to Edward VII, the infamous playboy of voracious appetite. The European royal families are rather interconnected. 

"I will come back if you need my help. Send me a telegram, Yura. Reach out." 

Yuuri nods, silently vowing only to call on her to witness the birth of her grandchild. If Yuuri plays his cards correctly, _he_ will come soon.

* * *

Yuuri readjusts his pillow, fluffing it. Then as he lies on his stomach, he wraps his arms around it, watching his alpha struggle with no small amount of amusement. Knowing Viktor’s reputation, he doubts he doesn’t know what a condom is, but from the way he’s acting, it looks like it's the first time he has ever seen one. The omega has no interest in helping him out as he languishes in the sweat of his pre-heat, stark naked underneath the blankets. He dislikes the wet heat built up between the blankets and bedsheets, but he loathes the cold, so he stays burrowed in his nest. 

“Sorry,” Viktor says, shaking his head as he puzzles over the condom. “I’ve never used rubber condoms before. It feels different.” 

“Maybe you should practice,” Yuuri suggests. “I’m not going anywhere, and it will be a while before the heat hits.” 

“Good idea.” Viktor glances over to the omega. “Do you need anything? Water, fruits, dinner? Soup? Ice cream?” 

“Sleep.” 

"Then sleep, zolotse." 

* * *

Yuuri throws an arm over his alpha. Murmuring into Viktor's ear, he whispers, "Are you awake, Vitya?" He presses his cheek against the alpha's bare shoulder, sighing in relief as he soaks in his warmth. 

"Mmm?" Hands find their way around the omega's waist. "Oh, your heat has started." And then Viktor inhales and softly compliments, "You smell good, Yuura. Intense. Almost like vanilla." 

And Yuuri can sense Viktor's own scent responding, intensifying with a hazy taste of pleasure. "Vitya," he says, gasping as he feels slick dripping from his achingly empty hole. "Vitya, I need you." 

"Hush," the other man murmurs. "I will not leave you wanting. Relax, Yuura. On your back now." And on that word, his head slips underneath the blanket and disappears from Yuuri's view. He withdraws his hold on Yuuri and caresses the omega's bare hips, following the curves downwards until he finds Yuuri's jutted cock, swollen and leaking. 

His hand strokes Yuuri's cock once, twice, and then a third time, teasing the pent-up omega who comes embarrassingly quick under Viktor's touch with his hips shaking in release. "Oh, wow," Viktor murmurs, his voice filled with awe. "Can you come again?" 

Yuuri can, his heart erratic as Viktor spreads his legs apart. He doesn't see the alpha at all, but the tent formed by Viktor's back rises and falls as he moves, dipping his finger inside Yuuri and finding him wet with slick. Yuuri's hands dive beneath the sheets, finding Viktor's hair as the other man brushes his lips against the omega's folds. He tries desperately to stifle his moans, but Viktor's tongue slips inside the omega and there, Yuuri unravels. 

Though Viktor skillfully manages the omega's heat under the covers, a pressing want crawls up Yuuri's spine. Viktor gives so much attention with his hands and mouth, but he needs to give something else, something that will fill the empty feeling burrowing inside Yuuri. 

Yuuri tries to push the feeling away, but he needs Viktor more than he needs air. With a twist of an arm, he throws the covers off without a warning. Breathing hard, he rasps, whining, "I need you inside me, Vitya. I can't wait any longer." 

"One more time." Then Viktor's mouth returns to the omega's hole, feasting like a man ravenous after wandering a desert for years and finding an oasis in Yuuri. He gasps as slick splatters across his face and reaches up to force Yuuri to release his sole grip on the alpha's hair. 

Yuuri can't help the heady arch of his back as he comes. Then his body relaxes, riding through the gentle, wonderful pulses of his orgasm. He blearily turns over, watching his alpha disappear into the bathroom and reemerge with a box of condoms. It seemingly takes a lifetime for Viktor to slip the condom on over his impressive manhood. The omega is positively drooling into his pillow, mourning that the condom hides the way pre-cum drips from Viktor's slit. 

Viktor climbs back onto the bed. He gazes at the omega, like a man viewing an artwork with no small amount of admiration. 

Though Yuuri is flattered and blushes under the attention, he is quite bereft of what he needs most. He pulls his alpha by the arm, growling. "You, inside me, now." 

“As you wish,” he murmurs. 

The omega almost weeps when he’s gathered into his husband’s arms. Sitting on the other man’s lap, he positions himself over Viktor’s cock, slowly sinking down. His mouth parts at the stretch as Viktor touches him in all the ways he loves. He squeezes Viktor’s shoulder, his lips mouthing over the alpha’s ears. Grumpy, he orders, “You need to breed me so hard that I’m full of your seed.” 

The silver-haired man’s lips quirk upwards. “Anything else, Yuura?” 

“Faster,” Yuuri insists, demanding. Though it has been mere minutes since Viktor has last touched him, it feels like years to Yuuri. The omega leaves scratches down his alpha's back as Viktor begins to move, slick squelching lewdly between them. Yuuri can't resist biting at the collarbone, his inhibitions lost to the wind. He freely marks his alpha even as he comes again. His instincts _need_ to see Viktor marked, owned by Yuuri. 

He will settle for nothing less. 

No one can look at Viktor's neck and pretend he doesn't belong to Yuuri. 

Viktor's thrusts grow erratic, the base of his knot slapping against Yuuri's hole. Then the knot pops in, sealing them together. 

"Ah!" Yuuri cries, nuzzling his alpha's neck. This is what he needs. Filled to the brim with his alpha's knot and cock. There's no place the omega would rather be. 

"Lay down. Rest for a while," Viktor whispers, panting hard. He pulls them down to the bed, careful, so they lay together side by side. With gentle fingers, he pushes the stray ends of Yuuri's hair out of his eyes. 

Yuuri loses all concept of time, lost in the haze of his heat as he is alternatively penetrated by his alpha and fed small pieces of fruit and water. All he is aware of is the presence of his alpha and the awe drumming inside him. And Viktor responds wonderfully, his torso arching as he pounds into Yuuri’s cunt as if he can never get enough. 

It’s somewhere around dawn when Viktor begins flagging. He circles Yuuri’s folds and switches his hands with a wince on his swollen lips. Behind his back, he shakes out his hand and cracks his wrist. 

Yuuri, lacking any sense of social graces and politeness, pouts. Feeling not even a teaspoon of shame, he declares, "Your left hand is not as good as your right.” 

Viktor pushes his bangs out of his eyes. He says with a gasp, "Yuura, your stamina is incredible." 

Still pouting, he whines, "Vitya, fill me up? I want your knot again." He lifts his head, watching the alpha work. 

"Ten minutes." 

Yuuri gently pushes away his husband's hands and sits up. "No ten minutes. Let me help now." And he purrs in delight when Viktor lies down, turning over to reveal his cock. Eyes wide, he whines as Viktor's cock thickens in a valiant attempt to erect itself. This will not do. 

The omega blows cool air by Viktor’s cock. 

"Yuura, ah!" Viktor cries, his fingers and nails curling into bedsheets. 

Slow kitten licks begin at the shaft. Yuuri is mildly disappointed by the lukewarm response, resolving to try harder. Has he tired out his alpha so soon? He wraps his mouth around the tip, his cheeks hollowing. Slowly but surely, Viktor’s cock returns to life under Yuuri’s touch. 

Yuuri wants to sink down immediately on the cock, returning to where he rightfully belongs. But with muted words, he forcibly reminds himself aloud, “Condom.” 

“Yes,” Viktor agrees, already reaching for a new condom on the nightstand. 

In these moments, Yuuri can feel every breath the alpha takes. He’s strangely attuned to him on a different level he has never experienced. As Viktor sits up, Yuuri, entranced by this man, crawls towards him, a hand underneath the other man’s chin. Of his own accord, he curves his neck and meets Viktor in a kiss. It’s soft and gentle, and the other man tastes like Yuuri’s slick, sweet with the faint tang of the orange they shared an hour ago. Then he pulls back, his eyes shut as he nuzzles his alpha’s neck, deeply inhaling the familiar citrus scent he’s grown fond of.

* * *

The haze fades away. 

Yuuri weakly lifts his head up, gasping at the soreness in his neck. There’s an impressive array of bruises, nips, and fingernail scratches over his arms and thighs, and he suspects there’s even more on his back. He spies the pitcher of water and remembers the doctor’s orders. Climbing out of bed to pour himself a glass of water feels like a Herculean task as he limps towards the table, his muscles sore and aching. 

There’s a moan from the alpha’s side of the bed. In Russian, he groans, “You can move? Wait. English.” A pause and he croaks in English, "Water?" 

The omega helps his husband with the glass, watching his throat bobble as he desperately drinks. With concern, he asks, "Did you pull a muscle? Do you want me to send Yuuko for the doctor?" 

"No," Viktor answers, closing his eyes. "I need to rest." He lifts up the blanket and softly inquires, "Rest with me?" The blanket slips off his torso, revealing an impressive line of bite marks at his collar. 

"In a moment," Yuuri answers, resisting a smile and placing the glass on the table as he limps towards the bathroom. Despite the pervading aches in his muscles and the brutal aftermath of Yuuri's heat, the omega can't help the satisfying twinge of pleasure he feels. He bears Viktor's marks just as the alpha carries his. Just as how Viktor carved a place for himself in Yuuri's cunt, Yuuri has permanently marked him to the point that he can never forget the omega. And, if he was to be honest, he'll admit there's no place he would rather be than curled up by Viktor's side, recuperating together.

* * *

Months fly by quicker than Yuuri expected. He spends weeks taking notes and practicing his hand at Cyrillic. Georgi proves to be adept at teaching him the subtleties in the language, the double meanings and hidden puns a non-native speaker could easily miss. In the meanwhile, Ekaterina grows in size and begins to crawl, her azure eyes wide in wonder when not asleep. She still screams and cries at times, but the frequency lessens when she finds her first word, _nye._ It takes Viktor standing in their dining room for minutes with her babbling _nye, nye, nye_ in his arms to realize what she says. 

No in Russian. _Nyet._ It's quite funny at times, though no one in the palace knows where she learned it from. Guang Hong tries to entice her to play with a rattle, resulting in a decisive _Nye!_ Phichit has taken several photographs of her, but whenever he uses the camera flash, she shouts her only word, scowling but not crying. 

"Yuuri, are you ready?" Phichit hollers in English, knocking on the closed door. "You're going to be late." 

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" He throws on a light sable coat and slips into flat shoes. "I'm just. . ." 

Nervous. 

Yuuri barely notices the automobile driving him. His attention affixes itself to the crowd of people standing in front of Pushkin Elementary, the audience composed of parents and Kiev’s representatives. The world seems to blend, the blueness of the sky mixing in with the clouds. Or perhaps, is it the other way around? The sky seems to be a safer place to look than the faces of the crowd. He moves slowly towards the stage temporarily set up in front of the entrance. Lost in his own head, he doesn’t react when a man curses something about Japan at him in Russian and spits at his shoe, missing Yuuri completely. Takeshi and Ren are quick to haul him away, taking each arm. 

He straightens, his hands finding support from the podium. He’s thankful he is not wearing his spectacles. There must be hundreds before him, gathered around to listen to what he has to say. He shakily slips a sheet of paper out from his pocket. Sweat smears the notes the omega has written, and, as the crowd hushes, Yuuri’s heart pounds, louder than any drum. 

In awkward, accented Russian, Yuuri begins speaking, trying to make his voice as strong as possible. He hears nothing but a constant pitch, and his back sweats profusely despite the chilly breeze. “Good afternoon. I’m Yuri Alekseevich, the sponsor of the newest program that has affected every student in Kiev. The initiative was originally a bid to increase the rate of student enrollment and to encourage every child in Kiev to receive an education.” His voice drifts away, and he chances a glimpse into the crowd, wondering if they’re bored with his short speech. 

And then he finds a familiar face. Two heads with silver hair, one small, one large. Viktor and Ekaterina, though blurry in Yuuri’s eyes, stand right underneath an oak tree. Yuuri can barely make out the slip of a smile on the alpha’s face, encouraging. 

Then the wind catches Yuuri’s notes and steals them away, the paper fluttering its farewell in swirls, but Yuuri is already speaking once more. “The Kiev Lunch Program vows to dedicate a free full meal to every student learning in schools and to pay for every student's attendance fee. It’s meant to serve our children in preparation for their lives as successful, disciplined adults. No child can possibly think on an empty stomach, and no student can grow without a meal just as how a fir tree can not survive without water. With the removal of the attendance fee, education is accessible to every child, striking down an old barrier. The last five months the program has served only proved how much it is needed in Kiev, which is why I’m proud to announce the continuation of the program for not just the next school year but also for future generations of students to come. This is a new future for our children.” A pause and then, stumbling, he adds, “Thank you.” 

The smatterings of applause bring a sigh of relief to Yuuri’s lips. He didn’t screw up, and it seems that no one hated him either for butchering the Russian pronunciation. He makes his way down from the stage, helped by Phichit. And then he’s running despite his assistant’s shout. He makes a beeline to the oak tree, to where he last saw Viktor. 

And he finds his alpha, still wearing his light brown military uniform as if he just left the training camp. Ekaterina sleeps peacefully in his arms. “You came,” he breathes in surprise, slipping into English. 

“I had to. I didn’t want to miss your speech.” 

The omega blushes. “It’s not really a speech. It was only a small statement.” 

“A speech is a speech regardless of its length. You ended it very well,” the alpha compliments, adjusting his grip on the baby and offering his free arm. "Shall we go home now?" 

"No, let's stay behind a little bit. We should talk to some people, and I do need a translator to help with my Russian. I also lost Phichit." Yuuri glances pointedly at his husband, hoping he catches the hint. 

Viktor smiles. "I'll be happy to assist." Then he adds, "Your Russian is improving. Soon enough, you will speak just as well as a native. No one will be able to distinguish the difference."


	6. Chapter 5

In an effort to keep himself relatively informed, Yuuri has newspapers delivered to him every morning. Most of them are in Russian, and if he was eating breakfast with Viktor, he would wait until his husband left for the training camp to read them. If Yuuri had nothing to do that particular morning and was alone, he would hide in his bedroom and leisurely read through every article, ink staining his fingertips. 

It's this morning that Yuuri, while reading aloud in Japanese to Ekaterina, finds his voice trailing off into silence. 

He finds a blank envelope resting between the fourth and fifth page. He spares a glance to Ekaterina, who has slipped into a nap while Yuuri was reading. The omega frowns. Why would anyone want to slip an envelope to him? 

It's unsealed. 

He lifts up the flap and unfolds the single piece of paper. Most of the letter is written in Japanese except for the name of the receiver and the name at the bottom. Yuuri adjusts his spectacles, his eyes peering at the kanji. 

_Originally in French, translated_

_Dear Viktor,_

_I'm pleased to hear that you are in fair health. I apologize for not responding to your last letter. My husband has taken up a position at a medical school and moved our home to Basel. He also opened a small office in the city._

_Studying nursing, for omegas, is an acceptable field. It does pain my heart to see people smile upon me while deeming me as a nursing student whereas the actual truth causes them to frown even as my husband fully approves my decision. Studying medicine to become a doctor is difficult once it is known that I'm an omega. Teachers who once praised me for my work now hesitate on their compliments. They are all puzzled by my ambition._

_"Isn't your husband a doctor?"_

_Yes, he is. A physician. They only stop their attitudes when I jest my husband being so busy with his patients that he could hardly take care of our Emilia._

_"Surely it would be better to stay at home to care for your little girl?"_

_At this point, I'm fed up with their insincere questions and will answer no more. They seek to discourage me from my studies, and I will not entertain their wagging tongues any further._

_Emilia is now one year old. She's a small thing, growing quickly. I hope there is still enough of our old friendship for you to accept my decision to make you one of her godparents._

_I would like to congratulate you on the birth of your child, Ekaterina. At eight months, she must be getting quite big now. I advise you to take many photographs of her. I regret not taking pictures of Emilia's milestones. My husband drew a lovely sketch of her, but it is not the same thing as a photograph. A photograph can last longer than a memory._

_Always your friend,_

_Chris_

_P.S. I'm glad to hear of good thoughts regarding your husband. It's all working out, isn't it? Don't be like my foolish husband. Don't make his old mistakes._

Chris? Who is this Chris? Yuuri's thoughts jumble together. Why would someone pass a translated letter to him? No, why would _Morooka_ secretly send this to him? He knows Viktor has many friends the omega has not met. The omega is not offended; it is merely the fact of life. Yuuri returns to the letter and flips to the back where Morooka has scribbled, _from Switzerland._

Oh. Suddenly, it hits him. Viktor must have sent a letter or a telegram to his old lover, the one that got the Russian court gasping in a scandalized tone, because the Swiss omega was married. Yuuri rereads the letter again, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. To be truthful, he would rather have his husband cut all ties to this Chris, but it's not as if people would care if Viktor was cheating on Yuuri with Chris. It would only look badly upon Yuuri. 

In a huff, Yuuri crumples the letter and stalks to the fireplace. He adjusts the banner screen and tosses the paper into the flames. It easily burns up, melting into orange and then black ashes. It doesn’t matter, and why should Yuuri care about this? He should only care if Viktor decides to kill Yuuri and marry Chris, he supposes. But other than that, he shall not care what Viktor does in his spare time. 

Yuuri can recall the lessons of his cousin’s tutor, the one who especially specializes in the facts of marriages. It’s not uncommon to find the alpha unfaithful, and when Yuuri agreed to go forth with the arranged marriage, he was prepared to find the worst sort of alpha, the lowest form of a husband. He expected a lecherous man who gambles, who drinks, who smokes, who leers at every moving being with a pulse. He hasn’t found any signs of this in his husband, and then there’s the strange truth that Viktor is far better than what Yuuri dreamed. 

But even as he tells himself all these things, he can’t hide the fact that his chest aches. 

He walks to the telephone and rings Yuuko. Without missing a beat, he says, “Yuuko, I want you to summon Morooka.” 

“Last I’ve heard, he is in St. Petersburg. When do you want him?” 

Yuuri can't keep the hard edge out of his voice. “Whenever is most convenient to him.”

* * *

Yuuri shoves the memories of the letter into the back of his mind. He doesn't need to weigh on it, to lift his memory of the letter onto the scale and judge Viktor. He doesn't know what Viktor wrote, and he would rather not know. But he quietly resolves to keep Viktor close rather than push him away. 

Of course, it's all easier said than done. 

Mariyinsky Palace, like all Russian palaces Yuuri has ever seen, possesses a large garden, a pond with ducks and peafowls, and an expansive collection of trees to give the palace the illusion of privacy, all surrounded by a tall fence of metal and concrete painted white. Ever since early February, Viktor has taken to jogging around the pond and underneath the trees before leaving for the military training camp. Yuuri has his own habits. He enjoys walking the grounds with only the occasional call of animals and songs of birds. After Ekaterina's birth, he has taken to pushing a stroller while Takeshi distantly follows them both. 

"Is something wrong?" Viktor asks, his austere features seemingly glowing under the setting sun. "You seem to be upset lately." 

"No," the omega immediately says. Then he shakes his head and answers, "Yes. A little worried. My heat is strangely late." 

"The last time your heat was seemingly late, it turned out you were with child," he points out, his hands clutched behind his back. "It is a possibility. Birth control isn’t perfect. We will know for certain in another week or so." 

Yuuri nods. "Maybe." 

"You could have the doctor examine you." 

"No, I'm willing to wait. I'm only restless," the omega says, pausing in step as he stares at a peafowl. In a softer voice, he questions, "Are you disappointed that I may not have a heat?" 

"Yuura," Viktor pauses, his palm moving to gently rest upon Yuuri's hand on the stroller. "Don't worry about this. Don't be stressed. Everything will be alright, and if it isn't, I will be right by your side. Do not doubt that." 

A lump forms in Yuuri's throat. His cheeks redden, not from embarrassment but rather something that tastes like guilt. The thought of that letter crosses the omega's mind unbidden. Thinking quickly to find a suitable distraction, he inquires, “Are peafowls native to Russia?” 

“No, we’ve been importing them from India to decorate the palaces,” Viktor answers, scratching his chin. “Do you not like them?” 

“Oh, they’re beautiful animals,” Yuuri says. He continues on once the peafowl has cleared the path. His heart pounds, audibly loud to his ears, as Viktor’s hand remains over his own, as if inevitably linked. He pushes the stroller forward. 

“Have you given thought to which governess you would like to hire?” 

“Not yet.”

“It is tradition for the children to be educated by French governesses,” the alpha explains. “But if you would like to put Ekaterina in a school instead, I want it to be a school for nobility. That way she can learn German, French, mathematics, physics, geography, _et cetera_ and be taught by experts in their fields. She must be properly raised like a Romanov.” 

Yuuri nods. “I prefer her to be at home. I haven’t decided on the governesses yet.” There’s a pile of résumés waiting for him on his desk. He hasn’t given a look or a thought to it. It seems that ever since they’ve announced Ekaterina’s birth, there has been a figurative line of job seekers waiting to be called upon. 

Viktor hums, not commenting any further. 

“I’m glad she’s well,” he says, speaking once they’ve turned the corner. He sneaks a glance towards his alpha, curious of his thoughts. “The doctor has found nothing untoward. The little cold she had earlier didn’t concern him very much. It’s a great relief. She’s already recovering faster than I expected.” 

“Yes,” Viktor agrees. 

“Perhaps we could send the doctor to St. Petersburg to see if he can assist your nephew,” Yuuri softly suggests, trying to appear casual. He notes the contemplating look on his husband, wondering if Viktor would agree to put Leo in front of the Tsar’s family. “Leo has seen many cases through his years as a doctor, and perhaps he can think of something that could ease Alyosha’s illness.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Viktor says, speaking again after a long pause. In a quiet voice not loud enough to be overheard by Takeshi, he continues, “You have to understand, Yuura, that he fell quite sick last time he had one of his uncontrollable bleeds. They called for a holy man to pray for him, and my sister-in-law believes he can heal Alyosha. She believes in his results and will not take on any other doctors, and besides, I would rather not have the doctor attend to a patient in St. Petersburg. It will take too long for him to travel back and forth between Kiev and the capital in an emergency. I quite like the doctor.” 

The omega nods, unable to find any fault in his reasoning. As casually as possible, he inquires, “This holy man. Does he have a name?” 

“I believe the name Nicky gave me was Grigori Rasputin.” 

The name doesn’t ring a bell in Yuuri’s mind. Yuuri has no use for holy men or priests, and he can’t bother to remember the one who oversees service. Phichit has to remember his name for Yuuri. He walks on, making his way around the garden statues until he finds the steps to the palace once more. It’s only now that Viktor removes his hand, reaching into the stroller to retrieve Ekaterina. 

“You should join us for more walks,” Yuuri says, taking care as he strolls up the stairs. The stroller is already being pushed away by Takeshi, and Yuuri follows his husband inside. “Leo says the fresh air is good for us. Sometimes, the air inside the palace is too stale. We don’t open the windows frequently enough.” 

“I most certainly will join you for a walk every day,” Viktor resolves, dashing up the stairs towards his study. Ekaterina giggles in his arms, her mouth agape at the decorated patterns in the wall. “Do you always walk at four in the afternoon?” 

“Without fail.” 

“Then I will rearrange my schedule.”

“Vitya, you don’t have to do that,” Yuuri instantly protests. “I don’t want you to upheave your schedule and change things here and there to fit me in.” 

“You’re my husband. I will do whatever I want to have your company,” Viktor declares. With ease, he unlocks the door to his study and lets them both in. Holding Ekaterina to his face, he whispers, “Don’t you agree? Wouldn’t you like me to join you both for walks?” He sets her down in the very center of his desk, far away from the edge. She’s old enough to sit without toppling over like a poorly made tower. 

Ekaterina giggles again, clapping her hands together. “Pa, pa, pa!” she babbles. 

“At least she is not saying no,” Viktor quips. “I don’t think my heart could take it.” He reaches for her wooden rattle and shakes it in front of her. “Do not try to eat this. You can’t eat this, but you can lick it. I washed it.” 

The girl smiles at her father, already reaching for her favorite toy. Without any hesitation, she puts her mouth around it, drool dripping down the handle and over her grubby hands. If she had any teeth, she would be chewing through the wood. 

Yuuri smiles at the scene and slips to the threaded couch. With a throw pillow tucked underneath his head, he watches the scene until his eyelids grow heavy enough for him to fall asleep to the sounds of his husband cooing to their baby.

* * *

A knock at the door draws Yuuri’s eyes away from his journal. He recognizes it as Yuuko’s knock, and he immediately calls out, “Yes, please come in.” 

She does and gently shuts the door behind her. “Ekaterina,” she says, her Japanese accent awkwardly stretched around the girl’s name, “is with Guang Hong now. She’s putting everything in her mouth, and I’ve taken the liberty of removing small objects from her room. I’ve stashed away all the small objects into the motor house. I hope His Highness does not mind that it has been temporarily stored there.” 

“I doubt he would notice,” the omega replies. He waits for Yuuko to leave, but she doesn’t, as if waiting for further instructions. “Yuuko, is there something else?” 

"Morooka is busy. He will not be back until later this month. He didn't specify a reason," she adds. 

Knowing Morooka, it is probably because there is something quite nefarious cooking in St. Petersburg. He has a habit of finding secrets and plots before they even happen. Yuuri raises an eyebrow but makes no comment about the man. "Anything else?" 

“Yes,” she nods, straightening now that she has regained Yuuri’s full attention. “As you know, I’ve mated with Takeshi.”

“Are you. . .” Yuuri’s voice trails off, struggling to find the correct words. “Are you expecting?” 

“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes lighting up. “I am.” 

“Congratulations!” Yuuri sets aside his journal, shaking his head. “Wow, that is exciting to hear. Is Takeshi excited?” 

“Very. It’s all he would ever talk about to the other guards this morning, and I think some of them want to clock him in the head.” A pause. In a smaller voice, she nervously adds, “I do have a few requests.” 

“There will be an additional room granted to you for your family in the servants’ quarter,” Yuuri instantly declares. “Everyone will need their space, and it’s not good to be all cloistered in one room. You will all go mad if that were so.” 

“That would be excellent.” The maid neatly folds her hands in front of her, resting against the white apron. “But there is one more thing.” 

“Yes?” 

“I would ask if you could hire some more help. Ekaterina is growing quite large, and she is already beginning to crawl. Sooner or later, she will be walking and I will not be able to keep up. Guang Hong can, but I do not want him to tire. Young children are full of energy, and I don’t want our service to be inadequate for her,” Yuuko reasons. 

“Yes,” the omega agrees. “Put together suitable candidates, and I will make the final decision.” 

“Thank you.”

* * *

On June 16, 1907, the Tsarist government arrested many members of the Social Democratic party without waiting for approval from the Imperial Duma. This act completely defies the rules set forth by the October Manifesto. It's instantly challenged by the Imperial Duma, outraged by the blatant disregard of legality. Of course, an Imperial decree is instantly posted right after the arrests of fifty-five deputies, declaring the dissolution of the second Imperial Duma. Right by the Tsar's side is the Prime Minister, Stolypin. 

The banned newspapers are calling it a coup, a violation of the people's rights. But there is no visible outrage from the Russian people even as Yuuri reads of the coup the following day. There are no crowds with signs swarming the palace, hoping for Viktor's attention. It's a strange contrast to the time where hundreds of protesters clamored at the train station in St. Petersburg the day after Yuuri's wedding. 

Mila, however, has plenty of opinions. Without Phichit in their presence and with Yuuri's half-hearted Russian, she rants, "It is a blatant power grab by the Tsar and his cronies. But no one in Russia seems to be paying attention. Only the revolutionaries care about it. It's a return to normal, a return to what we had before. He proposed a Duma that is Russian in spirit. I do not know how a Duma with sixty percent of representatives required to be landowners can be truly Russian. Most of Russia is made of peasants, the common poor." She speaks so fast that her gestures wave around, her hands stabbing as if pressing into the heart of the Tsar himself. "Damn Stolypin, too." 

Struggling, Yuuri phrases his question in Russian, Ekaterina bouncing in his lap as she plays with a new rattle large enough to not fit in her mouth, "Why does no one care?" 

"Everything is returning to normal." After drinking a sip of tea, the other omega adds, "I think people are tired. They want to make a living, and now they can. Food prices are coming down, and I suppose there have been some improvements. Like your food program." 

"School doesn't start again until August." 

"Yes, but the kids are excited. They love the prospect of food that is not made at home. It's a brilliant idea." A pause. "I never asked, but how did you come up with this?" 

"It came to me. It pleases me to see how much this program benefits Kiev." 

"You should think of expanding the program. Many people from the countryside are thinking of moving to the city to take advantage of the program and free education. It might overwhelm your program if there are too many students," she warns. "I don't want any student to go hungry at lunch." 

"Me either." 

They sit in near silence. Mila, drinking her tea and taking a few bites out of her fish and chips. Yuuri, babbling soft nonsense under his breath to Ekaterina. 

Mila speaks again. “You know, you’re nothing like what I’ve expected.”

“Oh? What did you expect?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe some sort of snobbish, rude, arrogant, bored husband, the sort of royal who has more money than he could possibly spend and would rather gamble all day. The kind who would walk by a starving dog without giving it a second look. Mean-spirited and soulless.” A pause. “But you’ve been nothing but kind to me. Even after I egged your automobile.” 

“It’s fine,” Yuuri replies, his lips slightly turning upwards. “You paid me back with your insight, your thoughts, and your conversation.” He leans in, covering Ekaterina’s ears. “Do you want me to be honest?”

The other omega leans in as well, turning her ear. 

“I get bored of conversing with the other royals.” 

It takes a moment for the realization to dawn on the woman’s face. She shakes her head, her lips fighting back her mirth. “No, absolutely not possible. You can’t get bored from them.” 

“Well. One of them only ever talks about the colors of my curtains in the drawing room. Do you think I genuinely care if it was the blackest of black or the brightest of white? It could be the ugliest shade of brown, and I wouldn’t even notice nor have the wit to ascertain how ugly they are.” 

Mila snorts. “Curtains?” 

“You see? The conversations are boring.” 

“Curtains,” the omega repeats in disbelief. “They care about curtains.” 

“It is unfortunate,” Yuuri agrees with a disappointed sigh. "They would rather look at their curtains than see what is right outside of their windows, remaining willfully ignorant of what's outside." 

Mila eyes him in a new light. "Yes. That's correct," she agrees, almost like an afterthought.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Leo," Yuuri says, tearing his attention away from his book about the Roman Empire. "Do you need me for something?" 

"Yes." He scratches nervously at his neck, pulling up his collar. There is a hint of a red mark underneath the fabric, freshly made by a set of teeth. "I would like to discuss the future of my employment. Mind if I sit down?" 

"Not at all." The omega gestures to the empty seat across the table filled with Yuuri's books. "The library can be used by anyone. I wouldn't mind." 

"I hope you can order some more medical manuscripts written in English. They are all in Russian," Leo mutters, not soft enough for Yuuri to miss. 

"Oh?" Yuuri smiles. "So you will be staying." 

"For now," the doctor replies. "I don't know how long, but I will not suddenly disappear. I will give a warning, perhaps a whole month's notice?" 

"Yes, that is satisfactory." 

“There is more. I’ve been here for months now, and I am glad that the palace does not need my medical expertise every day. However, I feel that my talents are being wasted and dulled here,” Leo honestly says, his fingers tapping on the mahogany table. “I’m thankful that the worst wounds I’ve treated in this position are accidental cuts and scratches by the kitchen staff. However, two nights ago, Guang Hong and Phichit called me out to attend a troublesome labor and I realized that this is not exactly what I’ve dreamed of doing.” 

“You are saying you are becoming quite bored?” 

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that.” But the doctor doesn’t deny it. 

“Do you want money to open a small practice in the city?” Yuuri inquires. “Or would you like to train students?” 

“I’ve never thought about training students, but I do like to actively help people even if I do not speak their language. Guang Hong and I have been learning Russian together in our spare time, but it’s slow work and I appreciate having something else to keep my attention and my skills sharp.” 

“So a practice?” 

“That would be wonderful.” 

“I’ll allow it. As long as you don’t stray too far from the palace and have a telephone. I don’t want my daughter to accidentally break her bones and make the injury worse because you’re not around. A small practice and an automobile, so it doesn’t take you too long to travel,” Yuuri determines. “I’ll tell Phichit about this, and you can work out the finer details with him.” 

“Thank you. That would be great.”

* * *

A knock at the door draws Yuuri away from his reading. In his lap, Ekaterina pouts as the omega stops reading the whimsical history book about Ekaterina's namesake. He raises his voice and says, "Yes, please come in." He recognizes the knock. 

Morooka does, dressed in the guard's uniform. His hair is slicked with oil, and he shuts the door behind him. In Japanese, he immediately starts, "I apologize I was not able to come when you called. I was busy discovering information in St. Petersburg, and it was a time when I couldn't be pulled away to answer your questions." It's obvious to Yuuri that the alpha was busy monitoring the coup. 

"You had an associate slip me a translated letter written by Viktor's former lover." 

“Yes, I was unable to personally hand it to you,” the guard says solemnly. “I thought it was something you might have wanted to see, so I left orders with my associates to turn over any relevant letters to you.” 

Yuuri nods. “Change the order slightly.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to see any of their letters.” A pause. “Unless Viktor is writing about killing or hurting me or my children or even thinking about leaving me, I don’t want to know what he has written. That’s all.” Although Yuuri is indeed horribly curious about those letters, he would rather not spend his whole life analyzing every single line and word of their contents to see if there are any hidden messages in the translated words. What Viktor does in his own time is his business unless it harms Yuuri or their children. He will look no further than that. 

“I understand. I will amend those orders right away. Is there anything else?” 

“Pa, pa, pa, pa,” Ekaterina babbles, her hands reaching up to Yuuri’s face for his attention. Her azure eyes widen in curiosity at Morooka. She’s beginning to recognize faces, or so Yuuri believes. 

Yuuri grips her and turns her around, so she can stare at the Japanese guard. “Say hi, Ekaterina,” he whispers in English. 

“Nye,” she replies, her chubby cheeks scrunching up, disgruntled. She might have mistaken Morooka for Ren, who would sometimes blow a raspberry at her and draw out a wide-eyed giggle. 

Oh, well. 

The omega returns to his thoughts, speaking in Japanese once again. “Any new developments with St. Petersburg?” 

“I’m not sure if rumors have traveled fast enough, but a monk has suddenly gained the personal approval and friendship of the Tsarina. It’s all anyone could ever talk about. The Imperial Court, the servants, the people on the streets. All about Rasputin.” 

Yuuri cares little for this. The gossip has already grown old. “But what of the coup?” 

“Stolypin may be the face of it, but he is fully backed by the Tsar. He is currently a favorite of the Tsar, and I do believe he is the most favorite Prime Minister the Tsar ever had. The Tsar finds him an invaluable man at the moment.”

“Tell me about Stolypin.” 

Morooka inclines his head. “I don’t have his file with me, but I can tell you what I remember. He’s forty-five years old, and his family have served the Tsars for many centuries. His family has decent wealth, acquired from land and estates. His father was a general. He eventually went to study agriculture at St. Petersburg University. He later accepted a job in Internal Affairs and was praised for his administrative efforts in Kovno. He changed jobs a few times. Then he moved on to serve as the Governor of Saratov, where he successfully suppressed protestors and rioters in 1905. The Tsarist government was extremely impressed by this. Now he’s Prime Minister. He survived an assassination attempt last year. A bombing.” 

Yuuri tilts his head. “Who were the assassins?” 

“Members of the Union of Socialists-Revolutionaries Maximalists.” 

“Communists?”

“Yes,” Morooka answers. “I believe so.” 

“Morooka,” Yuuri pauses, reaching for Ekaterina’s rattle and handing it to his daughter. It’s too large to fit in her mouth. “The communists are still here?” 

“They’re not as strong as they were in the last two years, but without a doubt, they remain enemies to the Tsar.” 

His analysis fits with what Mila said. The Russian people have grown compliant once again, returning to their normal lives. It’s not a bad thing. Chaos is the enemy of the state, and though Yuuri can use the chaos and disorder in his favor, he does not possess enough support. It’s true that the radical communists can assassinate the Tsar with the perfect bullet, but then Alexei would ascend to the throne, returning Viktor to the position of the Russian heir. 

It’s tempting to use the anger of the most radical communists to his advantage, but Yuuri has been wary of the idea. The communists are a convenient enemy, an easy place for the Russian people to point their fingers at to blame. The omega merely has to place a gun in their possession. But if their efforts were ever traced back to Yuuri, an all-out war can be declared against Japan. 

Besides, if they grow too strong in number, they may very well declare a new world order. Yuuri has studied _The Communist Manifesto_ and Russian communist newspapers, alarmed by the ideas presented by these inflammatory words. In their world, Yuuri has no place. If they succeed, he, along with every other member of royalty and wealth across the world, would be removed from their high positions. As much as he thinks the communists could be useful at times, he would rather not poke the hornet’s nest. No, there are other options, less drastic choices that could be made. 

Yuuri can be patient. He can make small gradual changes in Kiev. 

“Is there anything else?” Morooka asks. 

“What do you know about the holy man everyone is talking about?” Though Yuuri doesn’t care for the holy man, it would be foolish of him to be ignorant of this topic. 

“I am in the process of writing a report on him for you,” Morooka informs. “I will tell you what I know about him so far. Unfortunately, I do not have a photograph of him on me.” 

“Proceed.” 

“He came to St. Petersburg sometime in 1903. Maybe 1904 at the latest. He was originally from Siberia. There are rumors of an unruly childhood. Drinking, stealing, minor incidents. He got married in 1887. His wife and their three children are still alive, but they are not in St. Petersburg. He gained popularity after befriending the Montenegro princesses. He has attended many salons, and I believe he made contact with the Tsar’s family last year when their son fell sick.” 

“It’s been said he successfully healed the heir?” 

“Yes. It’s all they could ever gossip about. They care less about the coup than about the mystic,” Morooka says. “Especially the nobility. But among the peasants, it’s somewhat the same. Not many have noticed the displacement of peasants in the Duma.” 

“Why is he so prominent?” 

“Russia has a fascination for the mystical and spiritual,” the guard explains. “This man is another one in the line of many other holy men who have captured the nobility’s attention.” 

“They’re not ones for science, are they?” Yuuri quietly muses. 

Morooka doesn’t answer. Perhaps he has recognized Yuuri’s statement as rhetorical. He straightens his posture, not even making a sound. He waits for further instructions, and after watching the omega attend to his daughter’s fallen rattle, he clears his throat and inquires, “Is there anything else you would like me to do?” 

Yuuri tilts his head thoughtfully. Now would be a good time to tell the guard of the heir’s weakness. Morooka knows how to use every secret to his advantage, and he can act on his own without needing Yuuri’s orders. He can find the first opportunity to strike, if he chooses to wield the blade. “I don’t—”

His words are interrupted by the door opening. There is only one person who would dare open the drawing room’s door without knocking, and that is Viktor, who stands in the doorway with a question on his lips. 

The alpha, glancing downwards at his pocket watch, asks in English, “Yuura, have you seen Katyusha’s rattle anywhere?” He lifts his eyes, puzzled by Morooka’s presence. “You’re one of the Japanese guards.”

The guard switches to English. Accented, he replies, inclining his head respectfully, “Yes, Your Highness. I am one of the Japanese guards.” 

“Morooka, was it?” Viktor says, furrowing his eyebrows. He has an expression set between curiosity and bemusement and something else Yuuri doesn’t recognize. “Second-in-command after Takeshi?” 

“Yes, that is correct.” 

The alpha takes a seat next to Yuuri, reaching for Ekaterina with a thin pale smile. The girl shakes her rattle and shoves the toy against her father’s jaw, as if she wants him to eat it. “Are you doing well, Morooka? I haven’t seen you for the last several months.” 

“I’ve been working on small assignments,” Morooka says, his face stoic. “I always run tests on the other guards to ensure they haven’t grown lax.” 

“A wise idea,” Viktor muses, his eyes cast downwards at the girl in his arms. He pretends to bite her rattle, smiling as she giggles in amusement. Then he turns his attention back to the guard. “I should tell my assistant to run that suggestion by my guards. We can never be too safe.”

The guard nods. “Shall I take my leave now?” 

Before Yuuri can answer, the alpha says, “I do hope that you would be amenable to the idea of taking a morning run around the palace tomorrow. I enjoy having company, and it’s unfortunate that my Yuura refuses to get up at five.” 

Morooka hesitates, not looking at Yuuri. Then he inclines his head, decision made. “Of course, Your Highness. I would be happy to join you tomorrow. Five, you said?” 

Viktor smiles, his voice clipped. “Yes. At five.”

* * *

Yuuri leaves their private drawing room for an hour to relax in the bathtub. When he returns to their drawing room, his nose wrinkles at the incredible powerful scent pervading every inch of the room, as if Viktor has thought to thoroughly douse everything with his pheromones. He finds the alpha snoring with Ekaterina on the couch. She rests in a bundle of blankets on the alpha’s chest. The young baby’s mouth opens wide, drool running down the side of her face. Viktor fares no better, softly snoring with his lips parted. 

It’s an adorable sight that makes the omega inevitably smile. 

* * *

That evening, Yuuri turns his head and glances into the too-quiet crib. Ekaterina is not in there. She almost always sleeps with them in their bedroom. Puzzled, he asks, “Vitya, where’s our daughter?” 

“With Guang Hong,” the alpha answers. His footfalls light, he brushes behind Yuuri and whispers into the omega’s ears, his lips hot against Yuuri’s cheek. The heat of the alpha’s body sends tingles down Yuuri’s spine. “The little one will be sleeping in her room tonight. I thought we should have a little time alone together.” 

The omega smiles, exposing his throat. An offering. “Now what shall we do?” 

“Yes,” Viktor agrees. “What shall we do in the meanwhile?” With these words, he spins Yuuri around and plants the omega on their bed. “Relax, zolotse.” His tongue runs over his lower lip, eyes locked upon the omega as he sinks to the floor, resting his knees against the fur rug. And there, he slowly reaches for the sock cuff and rolls it down Yuuri’s right leg, taking care with every inch of skin revealed. He does the same for the other leg, his movements unhurried as he unwraps his omega. A gentle kiss is bestowed on Yuuri’s ankle, a strange curl of heat crawling up Yuuri’s leg. Then Viktor does the same for the other ankle, his eyes briefly fluttering shut. He then lifts the hem of the chemise off of Yuuri and slips the omega’s panty down his legs. 

“You have too many layers on,” Yuuri points out, unbuttoning his chemise and tearing it off. He tosses it to the floor without ceremony. 

It’s true. His alpha still wears his collared shirt with a black pair of slacks, all neat lines and perfectly fitted. He looks like perfection. 

“I know.” And there, Viktor rises from the floor and climbs onto the bed, silver bangs covering the bright azure sparkle of his eyes. He rearranges the nude omega, so Yuuri is dripping slick on his slacks on the alpha’s lap. He fumbles with his belt, his limbs and nimble fingers no longer so leisure. He presses a searing kiss on Yuuri’s neck, closing in on the bite mark. 

The omega awkwardly scrambles in Viktor’s lap, lining himself up for his alpha’s cock. Slick drips down his thighs, and there’s something in the way that Viktor holds him that feels as if the alpha will never let him go, possessive and dark and greedy, as if Viktor is trying to swallow him whole. He can't help the moan escaping from his lips as Viktor enters his hole, still loose from last night. 

"Don't be afraid," the alpha growls. "Let me hear you." 

Yuuri tries, oh, he tries. Old habits of biting his lips or muffling his moans with a pillow rise up, but Viktor is fierce, almost as if in a state of rut, his citrusy pheromones sweltering. But that is not true.

He is not in rut at all. 

Viktor's grip around his hips digs in, marking the omega. It's a particularly hard thrust to a sensitive nerve inside Yuuri that breaks the dam and leaves the omega screaming, a lightning rod for pleasure. His fingers dance over Yuuri's bump, and he whispers, his words dripping with honey, "You will let me put more babies in here, won’t you?" 

And Yuuri sobs, the knot popping into his hole, burying inside deep into the omega. "Yes, yes, Vitya," he chants. "All the ones you want." 

When Viktor's teeth bite down and renew their bonding mark, the omega's eyes roll back, seeing nothing but stars.

* * *

Ekaterina reaches her milestones, and each one brings Yuuri’s husband sweet relief that she is indeed healthy with no noticeable disabilities or diseases. On her first birthday, Yuuri gives her an omamori that she promptly tosses out from the balcony. Viktor’s gift finds a better fate. A stuffed brown dog with a stitched nose and sweet eyes is her new constant companion while sleeping, and she sleeps soundly with her face buried in the animal’s neck. 

"Dog," she had screeched in delight, gleefully repeating the English word. "Dog, dog!" 

“I should have tied it somewhere,” Yuuri muses, watching rain pour down from the sky. The omamori is still outside, lost forever. It’s probably wet and resting in a puddle by now. “It is supposed to be a good luck charm.” At the confused look on his alpha’s face, he explains, “It’s a tradition from Japan.” 

“Are you superstitious?” Viktor inquires. 

“No,” the omega answers. “But it’s tradition. I still have all of mine back in Japan. We’re supposed to keep it, so it will protect us.” 

“We will protect her.” 

They do. 

Viktor does not skimp on the long, lengthy process of choosing guards for Ekaterina. As part of their compromise, Yuuri promotes Ren to be second-in-command of his daughter’s personal guards while the alpha picks an experienced gruff army captain named Igor Borisovich Smirnov. He is a weathered beta who did not participate in the Russo-Japanese War but did see some military action during the Boxer Rebellion. He is a wiry, average man who does not say much nor cares for the sound of his voice during his interview with the omega. He has enough manners to thank Yuuri for the tea, and, after spending some days training with Takeshi, Yuuri’s guard could not find anything amiss about the soldier. 

And the omega learns to find comfort in Igor Borisovich and Ren’s steady presence, always two steps behind Ekaterina and never letting her out of their sight.

* * *

Christmas in 1907 finds Yuuri with an extended belly. A thick grey wool shawl artfully placed around his shoulders and torso hides it perfectly, but it doesn’t stop any of the speculative looks or talk. Yuuri is not ignorant of the court betting on the gender of his next child. Someone suggested his next three children could follow the patterns of the Tsarina, all girls. 

Like last year, Yuuri participates in the organizing of the Christmas party. He doesn’t have to do very much, but he needs to choose an excellent gift for the royal family and personal gifts for Viktor. Last year, he presented a polished wood box full of Turkish cigarettes and a hand-crafted kiseru that Viktor wrinkled his nose at and later, with Yuuri’s permission, regifted it onto his older brother, who was seen on the balcony happily puffing away at the cigarettes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his face red with a tad of disappointment. “But I don’t want to lie to you, Yuura. I abhor the habit, and this gift would sit in the corner to gather dust.” 

Viktor’s gift to Yuuri that year didn’t fare well either. An entire bag of expensive makeup drew a strangely disappointed frown to the omega’s lips. That makeup bag was later given to Yuuko, who split it with Morooka for some reason or another. 

“Yuura, we might have not liked the gifts we’ve given each other, but at least Katyusha seems to enjoy her new blanket. We’ll try better next year.” Viktor had paused, “Perhaps we should go out shopping tomorrow with Katyusha?” 

For the last few months, Yuuri has mulled over the next Christmas gift. He wanted something that Viktor could use, something that wouldn’t be regifted. The gift must bring a smile to Viktor’s lips. 

“Yuri Alekseevich?” says a woman in English, drawing the omega out of his thoughts. She steps forward, a drink in her hand. “Is that you?” 

“I prefer Yuura,” Yuuri instantly replies. He turns his head, instantly recognizing her from photographs. Viktor’s sister, Xenia Alexandrovna. He has not met her until today. “I heard you were in Ai-Todor for the last two years.” Ai-Todor Palace is located in Crimea, and he has heard from Viktor that she and her family felt it was unsafe for them to travel to St. Petersburg for the annual Christmas party for the last two years. 

“Yuura," she tests, drawing out the syllables. She copies Yuuri perfectly. Smiling, she praises, "I heard about your program with the school in Kiev. I’m told it has been successful so far." 

"Yes, I'm pleased that attendance has gone up." 

Glancing around briefly, she drops her voice into a whisper. "I hope everything has manners, but I must say this anyway in case someone was cruel." A pause. "I know that you have little to do with the war. I don't fault you for what the soldiers have done. I hope you don’t fault us for the Russian soldiers." 

Yuuri doesn't reply to that. He had much more involvement in the Russo-Japanese War than most people believe, but the officers knew better than to gossip about Yuuri's advice to the Japanese army. He nods, his words clipped. "Thank you." 

"In spite of the circumstances and the war," she says, "I'm glad you married Vitya. He seems happier than before, and I would dare say that he looks healthier. I haven’t seen him so cheerful since our childhoods.” 

“Xenia Alexandrovna,” says the Tsarina in English, carefully stepping close to them with the Russian heir awake in her arms. Her face is cold despite her words. “I’m happy to see you. How are your children?” 

“Doing well. They’re happy to see their cousins. Irène was especially happy to see Vitya’s child. She hasn’t seen a ‘girl baby’ in a while. Her words, not mine. I think she will be disappointed how male and female toddlers look alike,” Xenia notes. At Yuuri’s confused look, she elaborates, “Irène is my eldest child. She is twelve now. Irina Alexandrovna, the girl weaving around Vitya’s legs for a peek of Catherine’s face.” 

“Vitya and I prefer her to be called Ekaterina,” Yuuri corrects, turning to look for Viktor who is holding Ekaterina in his arms. He is surrounded by his other sister and a few of his cousins, their conversation inaudible at this distance. “It’s her proper name.” 

The Tsarina inquires, in the same coldness she addressed Xenia, “Did you name her?” 

“No, Vitya names the girls and I, the boys. It’s our compromise,” Yuuri explains patiently, carefully speaking with nothing but politeness. He is not a fool to start making enemies out of the Tsarina even though it's clear Xenia and the Tsarina do not have the best of relationships. "I think he chooses the names better than I do." 

With diamond earrings dangling from each ear, the Tsarina lightly murmurs, "As long as they are proper Russian names, there are no better or worse names. I do hope for Ekaterina to have a younger sister. Sisters are the best. I'm close to mine, especially Elizabeth, and I don't know what I would do without her." 

Yuuri wonders if the Tsarina truly believes that, but he knows that she is hoping his second child will be another daughter. Keeping his face void of his true expressions, he, in the same tone as the Tsarina's, questions, "I heard your sister has decided to participate this year. It must be a comfort to have her near, especially during Christmas. A time for family." 

"Yes," she agrees. Nodding at Xenia and then Yuuri, she excuses herself. "I apologize for abandoning you two so soon. My feet tire." Then she strolls off into the crowd, finding a chair by the Tsar's Christmas tree. 

Xenia doesn't speak until the other woman is too far away to hear their conversation. "Sunny doesn't know if she wants to be jealous yet." 

"Excuse me?" Yuuri knows that Sunny is the nickname of the Tsarina, but it is strange to hear Xenia call her by that name. Anyone with eyes can see that the Tsarina is anything but sunny to her sister-in-law. 

"She may not show it, but she is quite eager to see your second child," Xenia whispers, lowering her voice. "If it is a girl, she would be cheerful, rejoicing." A pause as the other woman breathes in, anticipating. "But if it was a boy, she would be angry. Don't be surprised. It was the same for me. One girl and six boys. No more for me. It's far too many children. They are chaotic and full of energy. The nannies can barely keep up." She shakes her head, clicking her tongue. "My advice to you is that you tell Vitya to stop giving you babies after the fourth one. Seven is too many. Big family but never an ounce of peace." 

A sudden scream shatters the atmosphere of the banquet hall. Conversations stop, and the musicians in the corner falter the next few notes, their string instruments off-key. 

A boy's voice, young and pompous, shouts in Russian, "No! It is my toy! I got it! You already have one like this!" 

Xenia sighs, fully exasperated. "So much for a moment of peace. That would be my son. I will hope to write to you at some point, maybe in the new year. Regarding charity." 

"Yes, of course." 

"Now excuse me. I must remind my children of common sense." She stalks off towards the bickering between the children, nearly running in her steps. 

With no one else to talk to, Yuuri returns to his husband. He silently hopes he does not have to suffer through four labors to bear a son like the Tsarina. He easily clutches at his husband's arm and nods with a perfect smile on his lips at one of his cousin-in-laws. He knows he is supposed to know their name, but he can't bother remembering it. He does not speak much, merely answering a few questions about Ekaterina when they come up. 

Finally, they leave for refreshments. The omega thinks they could have talked forever. He turns to his husband and smiles brightly, his eyes crinkling. "Shall we open our presents?" 

"I have her present in our room," Viktor whispers. "I didn't want it to get lost." 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, but he does not inquire any further. He will find out sooner or later. "Do you want me to hold her?" 

"No, you open your presents first." 

The omega picks up the present, his heart skipping a beat in excitement. He raps his knuckles against the cover, confirming his suspicion. Books. Sliding his finger underneath the wrapping paper, he finds three unusual copies of books in English. He skims through the titles, noting that they are all nonfiction. It seems Viktor has been paying attention to what Yuuri has been reading in their bed. 

"These are all mock-ups. The authors have yet to submit their final version, but I thought you might enjoy an early copy. If you like what they wrote, I'll buy you the actual books." 

Yuuri reads one cover aloud. _"Constitutional Government in the United States._ Written by a man named Woodrow Wilson." Fascinating topic, a different form of government to study. A constitutional republic that is far different from Japan’s monarchy and Britain’s parliamentary constitutional monarchy. He sets the books down on the table. "You noticed what I was reading?" 

"Of course, I did. I had to know what kept your attention for so long even after I called your name a few times," his husband says, laughing. His cheeks are pink. "It took some time to think of something that you didn’t have." 

"Vitya, I can't match this gift." 

“I will love anything you give me as long as they aren’t cigarettes or cigars,” Viktor declares. He holds out Ekaterina. “Hold her for me?”

Yuuri nods, taking her off his alpha’s hands. Dropping his voice into a whisper, he asks her, “Did you have a fun time playing with your cousins?” 

“Too much fun. She started laughing when some of them began fighting over a toy. Xenia has her hands full with those boys.” Viktor tears away the wrapping paper and lifts his gift out of the box. “A tapestry?”

“Yes, in Japanese style. I didn’t weave it very well,” Yuuri confirms. Glancing at the woven work, he can’t help but notice the small flaws, the places where the coloring isn’t right and the thread has fallen lax. After presenting as an omega, he had taken up weaving, but he is not very good at it. He will not admit aloud how much help he needed to wrangle from Yuuko, who has spent decades weaving. Though Yuuko claims otherwise, Yuuri is quite certain she had to undo some of the tapestry to fix Yuuri’s mistakes. 

“It’s your work. It’s made by your hands. I will cherish it, Yuura.” A pause of consideration. “I think I will hang this in my study.” Viktor turns it from side to side. “What is this place? It looks quite beautiful.” 

“Hasetsu. By the sea, it depicts the Ice Castle.” 

“Fortified. It looks impressive. A real place?”

“Very real.” Rocking the yawning Ekaterina, he explains, “The American missionaries called it Ice Castle when they saw how beautiful it was buried under a thick layer of snow, but the proper name is Hasetsu Castle. The new name stuck.” 

“Maybe we should tour one day. We can visit. Sight-see.” 

Yuuri’s heart skips a beat. He would love to go back to Japan. It has been years since he has left for Russia, and there’s a part of him that suspects he may never return. “I would be happy to be your tour guide. I’m certain we can stay in Ice Castle for as long as we like.” 

“It looks like a wonderful place to stay forever,” Viktor muses. “Thank you, Yuura.”

* * *

Like Xenia’s family, Yuuri and Viktor have been invited to stay in the Alexander Palace with the Tsar’s family for the entire month of December, an invitation they accepted. It’s strange to be back in the palace but with Viktor by his side. Ekaterina, under the careful watch of Guang Hong, spends much of her time with the other children, delighted in the presence of her many cousins. She has learned to walk, wobbling after the older children. Yuuri and Viktor let her be. It’s good for her to socialize. 

The gossiping hasn’t changed at all. 

Sitting in the library, Yuuri casually listens to a small group of servants delighting in rumors and unconfirmed facts. It’s the very same spot he lurked in many years ago, and it seems that the library still remains a safe haven for gossip. He absentmindedly thinks about Viktor, wondering if he is trying to sneak out to the city to buy some gifts for Yuuri and Ekaterina. Or he could be running around the grounds, training his body to be stronger and resilient. It’s quite impressive how the alpha has trained daily without giving into the powerful temptation to cheat a day, determined to push himself. 

“Have you seen the man?” asks one maid in Russian, whispering loud enough for Yuuri to hear every word. “He is tall, and when he speaks, he’s so passionate. There is a real fire burning within him. His eyes can see right into your very soul.” 

“Rasputin this, Rasputin that,” remarks the other maid, bored. “He is old business. He has been here since last year. Why does he matter? There are more interesting subjects to discuss, you know. Haven’t you heard about Xenia?”

“What about her?” 

“They don’t share a marriage bed. Xenia and her husband,” she reveals, reveling in the secret. “But do you want to know who does?” 

“Who?” 

“Guess,” teases the woman. “There are only so many of the Tsar’s extended family staying in the palace. A limited number of married couples.” 

After a pause, the other woman questions, “His younger brother?” 

“You got it right. They sleep in the same bed. Every night. It is so unusual. Other than them, the Tsar and his wife sleep in their marriage bed together,” she muses. “The Japanese prince must be fantastic in bed. If he is half as good as he looks, then the Grand Duke is lucky indeed. I heard Japanese omegas are a different sort of breed.” 

“Don’t talk like that! It feels wrong to speculate on those details.” 

Yuuri tightens his grip around the book. He shouldn’t be surprised that he may come up in their gossip, but he has never heard such crass, intimate thoughts speculated about him. Who knew that sleeping in the same bed with Viktor could cause a small stir? 

Though they could sleep in separate beds, Yuuri prefers to have Ekaterina in the crib next to their marriage bed and Viktor’s arms wrapped snugly around him at night. If he has a choice, he will not let Viktor sleep alone. The alpha has his unique sleeping quirks, like the strange habit of always sleeping nearly naked despite the winter chill. Viktor runs hot, and Yuuri, who is still not used to the cold, gladly absorbs the alpha’s heat, curling against Viktor’s chest. It’s not a shameful thing, yet these servants gossip as if it’s an anomaly. 

Besides, if Yuuri sleeps separately from Viktor, then he would deeply miss the intimacy he shares with his alpha. He’ll never admit it to anyone but Viktor that he does indeed enjoy their matings. It’s only his business, not anybody else’s. 

The maid, unaware of Yuuri's close proximity, continues, "They’ve mated every single day they were here.” 

“Dear God, you need to stop. This is far too deep for me to know.” 

“Don’t be such a prude. This is life.” 

“This is invasive,” the other maid corrects. 

A crack of a cane against the tile floor sends Yuuri stiffening in shock. Another voice, loud and unamused, demands, “Now, do you two still care for your jobs? It’s far too easy to replace two maids, and you forget the benefits of your positions. You will find no other job like this in the world unless you manage to find another royal household to work in.”

“Sorry,” they both say in unison. 

The third woman huffs. “Olga Tarasova, you are a disappointment for speculating such crass thoughts about the Tsar’s brother and his husband.” A pause as she strikes her cane against the floor again. “That being said, it is nice to see Viktor Alexandrovich happy. Now both of you, get back to work. There are stairs that need to be swept and mopped.” 

Viktor, happy? 

Yuuri has worked hard to keep Viktor happy, but it is strangely not as big a chore as he would have thought it to be before he met the alpha. He likes the alpha, and the truth settles in him, light and free. He likes his husband, and it’s a thought he has never truly worded and mulled over. There’s a small thought growing in the back of his mind, whispering that Yuuri would not mind spending the rest of his life with Viktor and their family. Ekaterina and Viktor, the three of them together.

* * *

They return to Kiev mere days before the new year. After their afternoon stroll around the familiar grounds of Mariyinsky Palace, Ekaterina is sent off with Guang Hong while Viktor escorts Yuuri to his study. The alpha pushes aside the curtains, affording them a wonderful view of the setting sun. He then turns to sit at his desk, gesturing for Yuuri to do the same on the other side. 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow but moves around the desk, perching right next to his alpha. “So what is it that you want to talk about?” 

“A boring subject. Our finances.” 

“That isn’t boring,” Yuuri chides. “It’s important.” 

A small smile sneaks up to Viktor’s lips. “I spent some time in St. Petersburg reorganizing our ledgers in between training. Gatchina’s training camp has fallen lax in my absence. The men aren’t as trained as well as they should have been. It is disappointing to see. Too much drinking, not enough discipline.” 

“Did you tell the commanding officer?” 

“Oh, I filed a small complaint to the commanding officer. There’s nothing else I can do. I’m not their commanding officer anymore, and I’m not in charge of that camp,” Viktor says, shrugging and then reaching for his accounting ledgers. “I talked with the Japanese guards, and they are getting paid.” 

“Yes,” Yuuri confirms. “They are.” 

“But not out of our accounts?” 

“No, they have a designated account created by the Emperor that Phichit primarily handles,” Yuuri explains. “He’s the one who distributes their pay bimonthly.” 

"Oh," Viktor says, stretching the syllable out. "I see. If you want, you can use our joint account for their pay. I know the children's guards will be paid from the children's account." 

"We have a children's account?" Yuuri only has access to two of Viktor's accounts: the joint account and Yuuri's personal account. It's the first time he has heard of the children's account. 

The omega knows Viktor has more. He probably has at least a business account and his own personal account. If he is clever, he would also have a few international bank accounts all over Europe. Yuuri has the same thing, a couple of Japanese accounts and an American one. There have been many moments where he has been tempted to use the money in their joint account to amass a sizable collection of gold bullion, stock-piling all the gold in Japan. Otherwise, the money can be struck by inflation.

"I created one while we were in St. Petersburg," the alpha explains, holding a booklet out to Yuuri. "Right now, it holds eighty thousand roubles. I haven't set up a monthly transfer to that account, but the account will be used to pay for the doctor, their governess, clothes, tutors, and other expenses." A pause. “Have you decided on a governess yet?” 

“No, but I think I will start accepting interviews after this one is born,” Yuuri answers, a hand protectively shielding his baby. “I don’t want to get overwhelmed.” 

“Of course,” Viktor agrees. “I trust your decision.” With these words, his palm gently rests over Yuuri’s own, a silent promise. And his lips pull into a smile as he feels their little one kicking. “Wow,” the alpha chuckles. “I think they might be a figure skater one day.” 

“A figure skater?” Yuuri tilts his head. He has dreams of his second child being a boy. An alpha. One day, he will be the Tsar, loved by all. Figure skating has no importance in his future unless he enjoys it as a small hobby or for relaxation. He will know how to run a country, leading his people into the future, and Yuuri will be faithfully by his side, steady as an anchor until he is strong enough to forge his own path.


	7. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating with a full chapter tomorrow and have a small preview at the end.

**_Red Winter: Part 2 (1908-1914)_ **

_The Civil Years_

* * *

**New York Herald (1835-1924)**

**New York, Wednesday, January 31, 1912.**

**REBELLIOUS PRIEST BANISHED BY TSAR**

**Heliodorus, Abbot of Tsaritsyn, and Bishop Hermogenes, Another Reactionary, Are Sent Into Exile.**

> ST. PETERSBURG, TUESDAY. —By order of the Tsar and the Holy Synod, the recalcitrant Bishop Hermogenes has been dismissed from the Saratov diocese and exiled to the Zhirovitsky monastery, near Sionim, for open and persistent insubordination in refusing to leave for Saratov in spite of reiterated imperial and synodal orders. 
> 
> Simultaneously the reactionary priest Heliodorus, the Abbot of Tsaritsyn, has been exiled to a remote monastery in the government of Vladimir, for championing the cause of Hermogenes. Heliodorus was the cause of fanatical scenes in Tsaritsyn in February, 1911, when all of his parishioners, becoming frenzied at his transfer by the Holy Synod to the diocese of Tula, decided to starve themselves until the priest was restored. Eventually the Tsar intervened and Heliodorus was permitted to remain in his diocese. 
> 
> The present sensational developments closely followed the dismissal of Hermogenes from membership in the Holy Synod, for a strongly worded telegram to the Tsar protesting against heretical innovations, among which he named the order of deaconesses, which is now being established by the Grand Duchess Elizabeth. The Grand Duchess is the widow of Grand Duke Sergius and a sister of the Tsarita. After the assassination of her husband she took the veil at Moscow. 
> 
> Hermogenes for the last week has been the centre of a veritable storm in the Russian Church. He and his supporters began a movement for the immediate convocation of a church council to deal with imperative reforms, among which were the restoration of the patriarchate, the formation of parishes and the elimination of tutelage of the regular clergy over the secular. 
> 
> The fall and disgrace of Hermogenes and Heliodorus, who have been able to defy the highest authorities in the State, are ascribed to the antagonism on the part of Gregory Rasputin, reputed to be a holy man and mystic, who wields enormous influence at the court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The next baby does not arrive any easier. However, Viktor seems more composed this time as he bravely weathers under the force of Yuuri’s steel-enforced grip. He is not as pale as he was almost two years ago, and he mutters reassurances even as Yuuri screams, the omega’s breaths quickening and sweat pours from his back. Yuuri swears he’s glued to the pillows. There is a flash of white hot pain passing through his mind, and a part of Yuuri nearly vows to never have a child again, resolving to always make Viktor wear a condom for the rest of their lives._
> 
> _“Out, out!” Leo shouts. “Guang Hong, I need the towels!”_
> 
> “Rebellious Priest Banished By Tsar.” The New York Herald, 31 Jan. 1912, https://www.loc.gov/resource/sn83030313/1912-01-31/ed-1/?sp=11.


	8. Chapter I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Please check out this amazing art done by Pancakebutt](https://starfruits-world.tumblr.com/post/630654245168873472/red-winter-a-yuri-on-ice-fanfic-fanart-wip)

_Viktor placed Ekaterina on the rug, his voice encouraging. "Go to the box. That's your Christmas present."_

_It was a cubical box with uniform holes punched in the sides, the size of the gift bigger than Ekaterina herself. The girl would rather stick her grubby fingers in the holes than pop the lid off the purple box. She stuck two fingers in, her eyebrows scrunched in concentration. Then she whined in disappointment when Viktor squatted next to her and gently tugged out her fingers with a laugh._

_"Careful," he said. "I will open your gift for you, Katyusha." He lifted the lid to reveal a dark brown bundle of fur. Viktor, his movements slow, captured the sleeping puppy in his palms, cradling the chocolate-colored poodle. It was so small, perhaps the runt of its litter. "Look, it's your new puppy."_

_"Dog!" She clapped her hand in delight._

_“It’s not like your dog, so you will have to be gentle with him. He is only two months old. Oh, he’s awake now,” Viktor announced, setting the squirming dog on the braided rug. Then he slowly backed away until he sat next to Yuuri on the sofa in their private drawing room. In a low whisper, he apologized, “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask if it was alright for her to get a puppy.”_

_Yuuri laughed. “Don’t worry. I like dogs.”_

_“Good.” The alpha smiled, his hand reaching for the omega’s fingers. Pressing a warm kiss to Yuuri’s knuckles, he asked aloud, “Would you do the honor of naming the puppy? I’m afraid Katyusha would name it something ill-fitting.”_

_“He wasn’t named?”_

_“No, I got him from a trusted breeder. He left the name up to us.” Keeping his eyes on the pair, he elaborated, “I used to buy hunting hounds from him in my youth and asked for a friendly, temperate dog that is wonderful with children. This is the best one he had.”_

_They sat together, shoulders touching, as they watched Ekaterina slowly approach the cautious puppy. Her hand stretched out, as if afraid but wanting to touch. Her azure eyes were wide in curiosity._

_“Vicchan.”_

_“Huh?”_

_Yuuri’s ears reddened, but he pressed on anyway, repeating himself. “I think he should be called Vicchan. It’s a Japanese name.”_

_“Vicchan,” Viktor tested, tasting the name on his tongue. He smiled at Yuuri, the very pleased expression sending strange butterflies down the omega’s stomach. “Vicchan. It sounds adorable. What does it mean in Japanese?”_

_“I do not know,” Yuuri lied._

_He hoped his expression remained neutral._

_Thankfully, Viktor did not inquire any further, lest Yuuri might catch himself in his lies. He squatted down by his daughter, lifting her up by the girl’s armpits. “Don’t you like the new dog? His name is Vicchan!” In a demonstration, he stretched out the syllables. “Vicchan.” A pause. “Katyusha, let’s say it. Vicchan! Vicchan!”_

_“Dog, pa,” Ekaterina repeated, “Dog, dog, dog!”_

_The alpha gently placed her back on the ground, fondly watching her wobble closer to the puppy. “Remember, Katyusha, be careful and gentle with your new friend.”_

_She plopped down a feet away, her face scrunched up in confusion as Vicchan urinated on the rug._

_Turning to Yuuri, he shrugged, unworried. “The joys of raising a puppy,” he said, grinning nevertheless. “I think she already loves her new friend.”_

* * *

Although Leo estimates the omega to be around eight months pregnant, Yuuri, feeling cooped up like a caged bird in the palace, ventures out to the nearby school in an impulsive trip. He brings his guards and Phichit, still careful with his safety. With the permission of the classroom teacher, he takes over the lesson for the day, calling for the young children to gather around the rocking chair on the rug so he can read “Vasilisa the Beautiful” to them. 

From the side, Phichit eagerly snaps photographs of the scene, of Yuuri’s hand wielding a book and his palm caressing his protruding belly, of the children leaning in to listen eagerly. 

After Yuuri reads the last word of the story, the teacher releases the students for a break, opening the door to a temporary freedom. She then turns to Yuuri and curtseys. "Thank you, Your Highness. It is a relief to not read aloud today. They love the stories, but my voice tires quickly." 

"No, it is my pleasure," Yuuri replies in Russian. Shutting the book, he hands it to Takeshi and leans forward in the wooden rocking chair. "How do you like your job?" 

"Excellent," the teacher replies without hesitation. She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I must be frank with you, Your Highness. Before you took an interest in Kiev, I was struggling with forty-six students in my class, all eight years old. It was difficult, and other teachers had a similar number of students. But now, I have twenty-seven and I am relieved by the superior quality of education I can provide to these children. Furthermore, your lunch program is a success. Especially with students, but the teachers benefit so much from it as well. I don't have to worry about my meal nor do I have to skip lunch, and I am terribly sorry, Your Highness. I am talking so much, and I can't stop myself." 

Yuuri laughs, warm. "I'm pleased to see the program has improved your life." 

"Your Highness, if I may. . ." She timidly adds, "I wonder if you would consider expanding the program to other cities and the rural areas. This last year, I've seen an increase of students who have traveled far and faked their home address to attend. They don't even live in Kiev." 

The omega nods, shooting a glance at Phichit. "I will consider it." 

"Thank you, Your Highness." She curtseys again. Then she points to her desk. "Excuse me, Your Highness, I must prepare for their next lesson." 

As Yuuri waddles away from the classroom and towards the automobile with his arm held by Phichit, he asks in Japanese, "What is the progress on the program? For expansion?" 

"Still building. We have to oil some gears in the other cities for them to put in better roads and to build adequate kitchens for schools." Phichit pauses, carefully helping the omega into the automobile. He shuts the door and sits next to Takeshi. "I do have some ideas for cutting down costs for the program. I thought we could borrow some of your husband's land to use as farmland to grow crops. We can import machinery from America to harvest crops faster than most Russian farmers can." 

Yuuri frowns. "They don't use machines?" 

"Few farms do, but many of the peasants who work their land do so by hand." A pause. "They do use tools." 

"That is troubling," the omega remarks. It is not like he can create a program to dispense machinery for systematic crop harvesting. Those are quite expensive to buy and to maintain. "So how much are we reducing costs by?" 

"I estimated sixty percent decrease. The only problem is that I need time to set up the farm, the workers, and the equipment. I can have everything in place after summer break, but it will be years before I can perfect this." 

“Ten thousand roubles should be enough to start the farm, and from there, we shall see how much of the cost we reduce every year,” Yuuri concludes. “Is there anything else?” 

“There was a suggestion that we allow the children to grow some crops, because some of them were employed by farms before they were admitted into schools,” Phichit answers, after a moment. “I told the city official that it was not an acceptable choice.” 

“Yes, their education should be the priority. But if they want to grow a small vegetable garden for herbs and a couple of fruit trees on school grounds, I think it would be acceptable.” 

The assistant nods and pulls out a notebook, scribbling down Yuuri's words. "Yuuko has made a final decision on the new maid. Only one maid, but she is confident that you will find him suitable." 

"I trust her judgment." 

"I have even more letters from French governesses and tutors. There are some rather outstanding choices. One of them is actually about to leave his position at Alexander Palace," the assistant says, pointedly turning his head to raise an eyebrow at Yuuri. 

"Did he used to teach the Grand Duchesses?" There is only one family living at the Alexander Palace, and that is the Tsar's family. 

“No. He was hired by the Tsarina’s sister in 1902 for Dimitri Pavlovich, her adopted son. After the assassination of her husband, the Tsarina’s sister became distraught and left for a convent. Dimitri Pavlovich was taken in by the Tsar’s family, and François Couture, the French tutor, went with him to the Alexander Palace. He studies under Mr. Couture when he doesn’t have to attend military training.” 

“Mr. Couture is how old?” 

“He was twenty-four when he started working. I believe he is now approaching thirty, if he isn’t already. He is also an omega.” 

“But unmated at his age?” 

“He claimed in his letter that bearing children is not his dream. He said two of his sisters died in labor, and he fears the same may happen to him. He finds satisfaction in his work, and he feels that he does not lack for anything in life.” 

Yuuri hums. “Why are you telling me about him now?” 

“He is arriving in Kiev around late March by train. He hopes that you would be available for an interview,” Phichit answers. “If he is as good as what his letters of recommendation say, I think this may be the French tutor you’ve been looking for.”

* * *

“Good morning, Yuuko,” Yuuri greets in Japanese, flipping through his letters. True to her word, Xenia has taken to mailing letters every two weeks or so, describing her children’s day or their messes and occasionally remarking on the political atmosphere in St. Petersburg. Viktor’s sister is actually insightful in regards to the thoughts of the nobility, even as she spends many paragraphs fretting over the growing influence Rasputin has over his devout followers. She is suspicious of Rasputin, but she does not dismiss him the way Yuuri does. 

The omega is strangely thankful for these letters. They are much more thoughtful than Olga’s empty letters filled with repetitive happy words. Yuuri is tempted to reply to her with an impersonal letter, equally empty and insincere and boring as hers. At least the letters from the Tsarina are interesting, scattered with sweetened flattery and double meaning. Yuuri suspects she might have heard that he has no interest in jewelry and thought to send a belated Christmas gift of a lightly used jewelry box with a sturdy lock last month. 

It is a shame. He would have preferred a vault. 

His eyes briefly glance at Yuuko and then returns to Xenia’s latest letter. 

_—written this many times before, but I’m eager to have a like-minded brother who is concerned with the welfare of the ordinary Russian people. Though I do not have a hand in public education, I was inspired by the illness and death of my second oldest brother. I maintain a sympathy for patients who suffer the same illness as he did and seek to improve treatment, so no one else would have to die from this horrible sickness. I serve as a patron to a few hospitals in Crimea, but it’s unfortunate that money is not enough to buy good health._

_Yura, there is a program I sponsor in St. Petersburg. You may be interested in creating one in Kiev, if one does not exist. The Creche Society of St. Petersburg seeks to look after children of the working poor—_

Yuuko clears her throat. In Japanese, she says, “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I’ve chosen a maid and I want you to issue your final judgement. He claims he is eighteen years old, but I believe he is younger and I fear he may be running from something. He doesn’t seem to have anywhere else to go, which is why I’ve chosen him over every other candidate. He is an omega, and I believe he has had some formal education, because he does know a smattering of English. Enough to converse with Guang Hong.” 

“Did you give his name to Morooka?”

“I did. He hasn’t gotten back to me with any information, but he did say he will have one of his associates look into him. May I bring him in now?” 

“Yes,” the omega agrees, setting down his letter. He leans back in his seat, his eyes narrowed but curious about the new maid. He watches a blonde boy, shorter than Yuuko, enter through the doorway. He wears the maid’s uniform, pressed and neat. His hair is somewhat long but tied into a tail. In Russian, Yuuri inquires, “What is your name?” 

The new maid hesitates, his torso bending in a bow before he swaps it for an awkward curtsey at the last moment. “Yuri Plisetsky, Your Highness.” 

There is no possibility that Yuri Plisetsky is eighteen years old. He is too soft, his cheeks still round with youth, and he is short even for an omega. But what fascinates Yuuri the most about the new maid is that he doesn’t seem to be well-fitted to be a maid, especially for the children. From his sullen demeanor to his fidgeting fingers resting against his apron, Yuuri wonders if he will be a good influence on Ekaterina. Children are impressionable, and he knows from his sister’s letters that they learn from the people around them. 

“Please call me Yuri Alekseevich when I don’t have company.”

There is a sour expression on the maid’s face, but he nods, resigned. “Of course, Yuri Alekseevich. I will resolve to do that.” 

“Please sit down,” the omega instructs, gesturing to the sofa. He rises from his writing desk and moves to his familiar armchair. In Japanese, he says, “Yuuko, some tea and snacks, if you will.” 

She nods and leaves. 

"Do you have experience with children?" Yuuri asks. 

The omega glances in Yuuko's direction, as if she holds the answer. Then he replies, "Yes, I took care of my younger siblings while my parents worked. I was in charge of them when they were six months old and watched them until they were old enough for school." 

From what Yuri says, it sounds as if he grew up poor, especially when his parents depended on him to care for their children. However, it is not clear how the other omega learned English. Most schools for the poor do not teach such subjects. Yuuri had to dine with city officials in charge of education for them to consider putting in foreign languages such as Ukrainian, English, and French and important subjects such as algebra. They didn't relent until Yuuri suggested an additional boost in funding for education and mildly threatened to diminish the size of his program. 

"When did you present as an omega?" 

"When I was fifteen," he says, after a pause. 

"You mentioned siblings and parents. How are your family?" 

"Good." 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. Usually, most people would elaborate, but the other omega scowls as if he's trying to pull teeth, one by one without pain relief. At the sound of footsteps, Yuuri lifts his head to the door, smiling gratefully at Yuuko bringing in a tray of tea and food. “Thank you, Yuuko. Would you sit down with us?” 

The maid nods, straightening her apron as she sits next to the new maid. In awkward English, she says, "Yuri has seen Ekaterina already, and I think she likes him. She spent an hour trying to copy his songs, and I think Yuri is a good influence on her." 

“I will have to see Yuri with Ekaterina for a day,” Yuuri says. With a small smile at the other omega, he adds, “She is the real test. If she likes you, then I will have no choice but to hire you.”

* * *

"Oh, Yura," Tyotya Maria gasps, stepping out of Viktor's automobile. She was picked up by the alpha from the train station. Wearing a thick black lace dress with gold thread intertwined in the floral details, she straightens her picture hat decorated with a sable ribbon tied in a bow. “You did not have to wait for me to arrive," she says, sighing as she rearranges her skirts to help Yuuri back into the palace. "It is no issue. I completely understand, and you're expecting. You should be resting!" 

"Fresh air is good for me," Yuuri says, even as his mother-in-law drags him back in. "I have spent too much time inside, and I can no longer take evening walks anymore." It's true. His protruding belly makes it impossible for Yuuri to walk for long, leading to Viktor carrying him in his arms at times. 

"I suppose spring air will do you some good, but it is still too cold even with that coat," she replies, tsking. "Have you eaten dinner yet?" 

"I had an early dinner, but everyone else has not eaten yet. Katyusha will be awake soon. She is taking a nap." 

"Let her sleep. We can eat in the meanwhile." Then Tyotya Maria huffs at her son. "Vitya, leave the bags in the automobile. I can have Borya carry them to the room later. Your husband said you haven't eaten yet. You need food and nourishment." 

"Yes, Mama," Viktor says, nodding and still carrying her bags. "I am halfway to the room. I might as well deliver these belongings." Then he turns at the corner, disappearing from view with a bag in each grip. 

"I hope Borya notices him before he makes off with everything. Some of my suitcases are rather heavy," she remarks. Yuuri suspects that if she had any less social graces, she would have rolled her eyes at this moment. But she doesn't. "Goodness, that boy. He would never stop. Has he been good to you?" 

Yuuri doesn't need to lie. "He has been the best." 

"Good. If he ever says or does anything ridiculous, set him straight. Say something to him. You can drop twenty hints, and he won’t see any of them sometimes.” A pause. “Is he still worried about his hair?" 

The omega smiles. Viktor has never said anything about his hair, but he does look into the mirror, nervously parting his hair in the morning to examine the spot at the top of his head. Yuuri, in a moment of sheer desperation and consuming irritation, once thought to send him a powdered white wig for Christmas. Thank goodness, he thought better of it and snapped out of his mood. 

At dinner, Yuuri sits at one end of the long oak table with Viktor at the other side. The omega misses their dining room, the one where Ekaterina and Viktor would be gathered around a small square table. However, this room is nothing compared to the banquet hall, capable of seating hundreds of people without feeling small. No, this is better, even though Yuuri would have preferred something more intimate. 

Phichit and Leo join the table, sitting across from Tyotya Maria and Ekaterina. The former empress is a good conversationalist, capable of asking questions about their employment and their experience in Russia without seeming awkward. She laughs graciously at stories about Leo's days as a medical student and Phichit's hamsters. In exchange, she shamelessly shares stories about Viktor's youth. 

"Mama, this is embarrassing," he remarks, though he hides the slightest smile behind a glass of white wine. "Why do you insist on telling everyone that I thought our family dog was the footman? I was three." 

"Four," she corrects. "You also thought you could change her fur's coloring by painting it." Then she pointedly turns to Yuuri. "I said it before, and I’ll say it again. If the children are half as creative as Vitya, you will be very busy. I needed a small army of nannies to keep up with them all." 

"Katyusha is quick on her feet," Viktor muses. "Guang Hong is good at keeping up and distracting her. They spent hours feeding ducks at the pond and chasing peafowls." 

"I would like to see that. I should join them tomorrow," Tyotya Maria suggests, reaching for her wine glass. "Oh, did you ever decide on the French governess?" 

"Tutor," Viktor corrects. "There is a Mr. Couture coming at the end of March. You remember him?" 

"An excellent choice," she says. "That poor boy. Taken in by a loving couple. Then the terrorists killed his adoptive father and sent his adoptive mother to the convent out of grief. Mr. Couture helped him. The General didn't do as much, Dimka was not one for the military, but he found much comfort in Mr. Couture's presence. It is such a shame how much that boy has suffered." 

"Yes," the alpha agrees. 

"I'm sorry if this is rude to ask," the doctor pauses. "But who exactly is Dimka?" 

“My cousin,” Viktor answers. “Dimitri Pavlovich. I think he is almost seventeen now.” 

“Sixteen. His birthday is in September,” Tyotya Maria says. “It seems only yesterday to me when he was a mere babe.” She sighs, as if time has physically worn her down, though she does not appear her age. “Really, there will be troubles with children and sometimes with other things, but you must take the time to slow down and enjoy every moment. Nicky is very good at that.” In a smaller voice, she mutters, “Perhaps too good.” Then she pastes a smile on her lips. “Now, I brought some biscuits from England. Would Katya like to try some?” 

A maid brings the box from the kitchen, breaking through the wrapping paper. Fetching a clean china plate from the stack, she places two on the small dish. Then she hands it to Yuuri. 

There is the slightest trace of honey on the shaped biscuits, baked to appear in perfect square shapes with etched floral patterns. Yuuri carefully snaps the biscuits into smaller pieces. Turning to his right, he raises a piece and allows Ekaterina to take it from his fingers. 

After seeing the encouraging look from Viktor, she places the piece into her mouth. Her azure eyes widen, and she blurts out in Russian, insisting, “More! More!” She reaches for the plate, though she can’t grab any of the biscuits from the walnut high chair. 

Tyotya Maria laughs. “Katya, my dear, you have the whole box to yourself.”

* * *

The next baby does not arrive any easier. However, Viktor seems more composed this time as he bravely weathers the force of Yuuri’s grip, clamping down like a bear trap. He is not as pale as he was almost two years ago, and he mutters reassurances even as Yuuri screams, the omega’s breaths quickening and sweat pouring from his back. Yuuri swears he’s glued to the pillows. There is a flash of white hot pain passing through his mind, and a part of Yuuri nearly vows to never have a child again, resolving to always make Viktor wear a condom for the rest of their lives. 

“Out, out!” Leo shouts. “Guang Hong, I need the towels!” 

The maid nods, hastening his steps. “Sorry, Yuri was throwing up. I had to send him out.” He returns with a batch of white towels in his hands, passing them to Leo. 

The sound of a baby’s cry shatters through the room, and Yuuri wants to sob in relief. They’re alive. 

“Ten fingers, ten toes. Today is March the First, fifteen minutes past one in the morning,” Leo announces, passing the bloodied towels back to the maid. “Guang Hong, careful with the scissors in there.” He reaches for the clean blankets on the table and steps around the bed frame, the wrapped baby in his arm. “Congratulations. It’s a boy. Your Highness, would you like to hold him?” 

“Let Yuura hold him first.” 

And Yuuri does, his arms weakly clutching his heir. He barely notices Viktor sighing in relief, shaking out his released hand. He sees the black wisp of hair at the top of his head and smiles at the scrunched features of his baby’s face. But it’s his baby and he laughs in relief, in wonder, when the boy latches his mouth to Yuuri’s nipple. 

“Yuura, his name?” Viktor softly asks. 

“Artyom,” the omega whispers. “His name is Artyom Viktorovich.” 

“Tyoma,” the alpha murmurs. “Derived from Artemis, the Greek goddess of the hunt. It’s a good name.”

The little heir, eyes shut, travels from arms to arms. Yuuri briefly worries that Tyotya Maria may drown him in tears of happiness. Phichit is no better, crying next to Tyotya Maria about how beautiful Artyom is. It almost appears as if a slow-moving river is running down the Thai man’s nose. 

“Second child, but it feels like the first. Every single one is already dear to me,” Phichit says in between tears. Tyotya Maria stands next to him, nodding in agreement. “I must take a photograph of him. We must keep this memory, must remember this happy day.” 

“Everyone must come to see him,” Tyotya Maria adds, using a handkerchief to wipe at her eyes. “Everyone should rejoice.” 

As Leo puts the sleeping baby down on the makeshift examination table to check for deformities, Viktor assists the omega with a brief bath. The hot water is a wonderful step towards normalcy and healing, deterring the constant aches all over Yuuri’s body, as if someone has decided to stab him and sadistically twist the knife in the stomach. Viktor dries him off and pulls a white nightgown over the omega. Then he picks him up, walking back to their bedroom and laying him down in bed, the sheets freshly changed. 

Yuuri glances around in a panic. Then he relaxes. Artyom is snugly wrapped in fish-patterned blankets and sleeping in the crib. 

“Rest, zolotse. You deserve sleep.” Viktor tucks the omega in and presses a kiss at Yuuri’s brow. “I’ll go check on Katyusha.” He clears the bedroom, gently shutting the door. 

Yuuri doesn’t fall asleep right away. Ignoring the dull pang of pain in his stomach, he briefly smiles at Artyom’s wooden crib. Then he turns to face the door, eyeing the place Viktor once occupied. An heir. There’s a bubble of excitement locked in his throat. His heir, the one who will one day be Tsar. 

He only needs a spare now.

* * *

“François Couture,” the omega says in perfect English, introducing himself with a perfunctory curtsey. Unlike many omega employees, this omega wears a fitted dark brown suit, the color a shade darker than his brunette hair. He places his black case by his feet and gestures to the sofa. “May I sit down?” 

Yuuri nods. “You may.” 

He does. Sincerity shines in his light blue eyes as he says, “I heard about the birth of your son in the papers. Congratulations. It’s an incredible blessing to you and your family.” He passes a smile to Yuuko, who immediately sits down with a labored sigh after passing the French man the cup of tea. “Miss, are you alright?” 

“Yuuko,” she answers. “A little sore. I had triplets two weeks ago.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Mr. Couture inquires. 

“I’ve been bedridden for months.” She waves off his concern. “If I have to return to bed, it is too soon. Poor Leo. He had to attend two pregnancies in the same month.” 

“He attended more than that,” Yuuri says. “Don’t worry about him. He’s used to it. He was a physician in America.” 

“Oh, an American doctor?” 

“Yes. He is good at what he does.” 

The French man places his teacup on the coffee table. Mr. Couture leans forward, resting his palms on his knees. “And I am good at what I do. I believe you have a few letters of recommendation. I teach a few children for years, and I do not stray, looking for a better paying job. I seek to be a steady anchor for the children and to lead them and nourish their natural curiosity and intellect. I’m not limited to the French language. I’m capable of teaching mathematics, physics, chemistry, geography, everything they need to know. If they do not know it, then I teach them how to find the answer to their problems.” 

“Mr. Couture,” Yuuri pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve seen your accomplishments, and I’ve read all the letters of recommendation. They’re very impressive, and there are no other candidates that meet your expertise and knowledge. However, I do want you to consider something for a moment.” 

“Yes?” 

“Yuuko has been with me for a decade. She is one of the best employees I ever had, and I would like to reward her for ten years’ worth of service. If you do not mind, her children would like to participate in some of your lessons when they’re older.” 

“All three?”

“Yes,” Yuuri confirms. “Is five children too much?” 

“No, but I will need an assistant.” Mr. Couture recovers quickly from his surprise. “Five children. They can be rather unruly at times, and I would abhor for my lessons to be of poor quality.” 

“That’s acceptable. You’re free to choose an assistant." In Japanese, he asks Yuuko, "Do you like him?" 

"I do." 

* * *

Though Yuuri is not in charge of planning the party to celebrate Artyom’s birth, he is no less nervous about it. Planning takes an entire month, and the omega tries to return to a sense of normalcy even as the date of the party ticks in the back of his head. Phichit, on the other hand, has taken to party planning with a great gusto that has frightened Yuuri. The assistant has promised to stay within budget, and Yuuri is not worried that he may overspend, but he can’t help but think about all the people he’ll be hosting. 

Including the Tsar and his family. 

They will be staying at Mariyinsky Palace for two nights. 

Yuuri can’t wait for the party to be over. He especially can’t wait for the morning after when the Tsar’s family will be leaving for the train station. Tyotya Maria will be staying for another week before leaving for London. 

“But why for London?” Yuuri inquires, gently pushing the stroller with Artyom sleeping within. Ekaterina wobbles in front of them, slowly following the peafowls. She is learning how close she can approach them before they run off. 

“To see my sister again. I’ve missed her.” Approaching the table, she pulls out a chair for Yuuri and then for herself. 

That's strange. She hasn't seen the British queen since January. It was not that long ago. 

“But not St. Petersburg?” Sitting down and then retrieving his baby from the stroller, Yuuri gently brushes aside stray strands of Artyom’s hair. The omega has noted many times that the boy takes after himself, a sharp contrast to Ekaterina, who resembles Viktor. 

“I think it would do me much good to spend time away from St. Petersburg. I’ve lived in Russia for decades, and a little change is no harm.” 

The omega glances curiously at her. Tyotya Maria is the Tsar’s adviser, unless something has shifted in their relationship to the point that she no longer feels needed in St. Petersburg. She has grown distant from her son, traveling across Europe and visiting various family members. She has documented it all down in her letters to Viktor. What was the switch that made her leave Russia after living here for over three decades? 

1906\. Christmas. That was when she first announced her decision to leave Russia. Yuuri suspects it might have something to do with Alexei, who has firmly cemented the Tsarina’s position and encouraged the Tsar to replace his mother with his wife in the advisor’s role. 

After all, Sunny has finally given the Tsar his heir. 

"Are you ready for the party?" 

Yuuri has a nice gold-threaded light blue dress, taut around his waist. A low v-shaped dip allows the omega to display an expensive necklace around his neck. Not lacking any sense for fashion, Phichit demands that Yuuri wears some form of jewelry, and to the omega, a tiara with earrings is far too much. They settled on a pink diamond necklace that will rest above the bodice line and a matching set of gold bracelets. Most important of all, of course, is his ring. 

"I will be." 

* * *

Under the stress of raising three newborns all at once and fending off the Tsar’s staff from overstepping their boundaries, Yuuko expresses her dislike of several maids. In Japanese, she hisses, rocking Ruttsu in her arms, “They tried to enter your drawing room to clean, even though I’ve explicitly told them that it’s not within their duties. The Tsar should have not brought so many cooks. Aiko is not pleased. She said that she knows perfectly well how to make Western food, but their cook insists that she’s doing it completely wrong.”

Alarmed, Yuuri quickly asks, “Did they try to enter my private quarters? Other than the drawing room?” 

“No, they did not. I barricaded them from Ekaterina’s room. They’re completely mad. The staff here are perfectly competent in their duties.” A pause. “That being said, some of them are rather nice, I suppose. The Russian heir’s guards are kind, and some of the Tsar’s guards have respected the request to not smoke inside the palace. They’ve taken to smoking outside by the pond.” 

The omega sits back in his chair, shifting his weight to his other foot. He carefully maneuvers his limb to avoid the napping puppy. He’s thankful that the maids haven’t gone inside, but it’s worrisome that they thought they could. “It’s only for two nights,” Yuuri soothes, brushing aside a stray strand of Artyom’s hair out of his eyes. Then he changes the subject. “I saw the banquet hall. Phichit has done an excellent job.” 

“Yes, the theme of spring and life. It’s fitting. I do think it may be excessive to decorate the tables with gold-layered leaves and gold dust, but it does look like magic.” 

“Are they layered with actual gold?”

Yuuko shrugs. “I do not know.” 

“I suppose layered is better than completely gold.” A pause. “I should check the budget.” 

“Phichit will stay within the budget. He’s good at that.” 

* * *

The night of the party finds Ekaterina tugging on Viktor’s leg, refusing the alpha’s request to leave for the party. Viktor laughs, holding out his arms. “Katyusha, why don’t I pick you up and we can go greet people?” 

She pouts, shaking her head. “Story.” 

“You want to go to bed?” Yuuri inquires. 

She shakes her head again. 

“Yuura, why don’t you go ahead with Tyoma and I’ll see if I can get Katyusha to put on her dress.” 

“You certain?” 

Viktor nods, brushing his silver hair out of his eyes. “I’m certain. We will be downstairs shortly.” 

“Alright,” Yuuri relents. He tucks his hand underneath Artyom’s head and picks the baby up, careful with his steps. He finds Phichit clad in a black suit with a grey vest waiting patiently in the drawing room, staring at the small collection of photographs on the wall. “Good evening, Phichit. Are you ready?” 

“Yes, everyone is there and I gave the order to the kitchen staff to start serving dinner. None of the guests are complaining even though it is a little unusual, but they did understand. Ekaterina still refusing to come out?” 

“Unfortunately. I don’t think she wants to see people tonight.” 

“Ah, she takes after you,” Phichit quips. The assistant points to a picture of Yuuri smiling with Ekaterina and Vicchan tucked in his arms. “Really, this photo is the best of them all. Not enough people smile in photographs.” 

“Vitya insisted that the photograph need to be on the wall.”

“He made the right choice.” A pause as Phichit turns and examines Yuuri in his evening dress. “Don’t forget to take off your spectacles.” 

“Ah, right.” Shifting Artyom to one arm, the omega pulls off the spectacles and places them on the coffee table. Without his spectacles, Yuuri’s vision is foggy, as if he’s trying to see through a murky cloud. A few blinks allow his eyes to adjust.

The assistant nods. “Now you’re ready.” 

Yuuri doesn’t feel ready. Nevertheless, he reaches for the doorknob and makes his way downstairs, walking slowly with his grip steady on Artyom. 

For many days, Yuuri has agonized over the very expressions and words he will say. If he was reckless, he might smirk and gloat at the Tsarina, marking the start of a vicious rivalry. But he won't. He will not give into the temptation of triumph, of acting as if everything he has ever wanted is already in the palm of his hand. 

The omega slips into the banquet hall, Phichit at his heels. He briefly scans the room, finding the Tsar and his family at the round table close to the line of decorative shorn maple trees all decked with gold laces and silver toys. His spot should be nearby, close to the very center of the room but off-set by the empty space reserved for dancing. With everyone eating, Yuuri easily slides into his seat. He flashes a smile at Leo and a few city representatives. "Good evening, Leo." He adds in Russian, "Good evening, everyone. I’m sorry we’re late. How is the meal?" 

No one dares to say anything bad about the food. Yuuri smiles at their answers, placing Artyom into the stroller. Unlike Ekaterina, the baby has a gift of sleeping through anything and the chatter of the banquet hall does nothing to stir him. The omega is slightly jealous. He, if he could, would sleep, too. 

"We're here," Viktor brightly announces, Ekaterina burying her face in his shoulder. "I promised her that she can try a little bit of ice cream." 

"Not too much," Yuuri agrees, nodding. Once Ekaterina is settled in her high chair, he returns to the conversation of the table. Like the mushrooms on his plate, it's stuffed full of dull topics, ranging from the weather to light smattering of gossip. Everyone at the table knows better than to revel in malicious rumors such as the ones centered around a holy man and the royal family, who sit only a table away. 

In between words, Yuuri glances at his husband. He is infinitely more interesting than the conversations, and he would much rather stare at the polite but indifferent smile pasted on the alpha's lips. The conversation does begin to get more interesting when the Mayor of Kiev turns to speak with Viktor.

The Mayor says, "Your Highness, you and your husband have helped the city flourish. I appreciate your help for the charities for the disabled and the sanitation system." 

"It's no problem," he replies in Russian, his expression indifferent. "I would have never known if you had not set up a meeting with me." 

"I do not know if I'm overstepping my boundaries, but may I set up an appointment with you later regarding the trams?" The Mayor's voice drops into a whisper, as if he would like the topic to remain somewhat private. 

"You should be able to set up an appointment with my assistant." 

"He told me that you wouldn't be available for another three months, and I would prefer to have the matter finished beforehand. I would not dare to ask you, but I did anyway, because I'm quite desperate for a solution." 

"I'll have my assistant reach out to you." 

The Mayor nods gratefully, nervously gulping down swallows of his wine. "Thank you, Your Highness." 

The party flows from there. Yuuri fields many well-wishers who give the sleeping Artyom their prayers and blessings, occasionally passing a small gift box for the boy. The omega is polite to each person, though he struggles to remember their names and their relations to Viktor. After seeing a second cousin once removed or something of that sort, every single one of Viktor's cousins bleed together into a vague caricature. 

Viktor, on the other hand, wields no such reservations. He smiles, though his expression is somewhat pained depending on which face he sees, at each cousin. He recalls all their names, their spouses', and their children's with a frightening ease. He spends ten minutes remembering the finer details of his childhood with one such cousin, perfectly recalling the trouble they found themselves in while on summer vacation in Denmark. 

"You took a summer vacation to Denmark for years?" Yuuri asks, once Viktor's cousin has fled for a stronger drink at the sight of his wife reappearing from the powder room. 

"Yes, my grandfather, who passed away a few years ago, drew his family back to Denmark for summer every year. It was fun. We rode bicycles on the busy streets, and no one bothered us," the alpha answers, looking quite pensive. But then he shakes himself out of it, a real smile drawn to his face. "Nicky, it is good to see you!" 

The Tsar himself stands by Viktor's seat, his light brown mustache thick between his nose and lips. Replying in English, he quickly clasps his younger brother in a hug, the medals over his chest jangling. "Vitya, I must congratulate you. What a miracle you’ve received in March." 

"Thank you." 

Yuuri nods in agreement, staying quiet. 

"We had the cannons fired from the fortress the very hour I received your telegram, so everyone will know that Tyoma was born." 

The omega has no clue to what fortress they are speaking of, but from the way the brothers act, it seems to be of great importance. 

"I'm glad to hear of that." 

After a moment, the Tsar slowly moves towards the stroller. With a small smile hidden behind his thick mustache, he muses, "Children are a gift. Especially sons." Then he straightens and quietly adds, "I better return to my daughters, but Tyoma. . ." 

"Yes?" Yuuri says. 

"Tyoma resembles you the most, Yura," the Tsar concludes. "He will grow up to be a handsome young man one day." 

"I hope so." The omega absentmindedly rolls the stroller back and forth. But truth be told, he would prefer for Artyom to take after Viktor in height, appearance, and mannerisms. Yuuri is not blind to the difference between Artyom’s face and of those faces belonging to western Russia. Artyom looks far from European and possesses distinguished Oriental features. 

Yuuri worries. When Artyom becomes Tsar, his people may think "foreigner," a sort of a false king. It will not be true. Artyom has been born and will be raised in Russia, but Yuuri fears that they will see him only for his skin rather than all the leadership qualities Yuuri will instill and nurture over the years. Catherine the Great might have been a German princess, just like the Tsarina, but today, no one ever questions the former Empress of her loyalty to Russia. 

It won't be like that. Not for Artyom.

It is alright. Yuuri will clear his path of the thorns as well as he can. The rest is entirely up to his son. 

It is an hour later when the Tsarina decides to offer her wishes and prayers to the newest Grand Duke of Russia. He notices her slipping next to him out of the corners of his eyes. He resists the urge to clutch Artyom and shield him from her sight. With respect in his voice and manners, he greets in English, "Your Majesty, good evening." 

"Congratulations," she says, though her words are a bit dull and flat. "A healthy son." 

"Ten fingers, ten toes." Yuuri smiles at the sleeping babe in his arms. Before he can bolt and make a spectacle, he forces himself to ask, "Would you like to hold him?" 

"Of course." She reaches out for the babe, her gold bracelets and jewels tinkling as she accepts his weight. She softly laughs at the sleeping baby, a surprising sound spilling from the Tsarina's lips. "Oh, he is adorable." 

"Yes," the omega agrees. He leaves it at that. Yuuri briefly glances around the banquet hall, spying Viktor with Ekaterina. She appears to have forgotten all about her small protests earlier, thoroughly enjoying herself as she plays with the other children. Pasting an expression of appreciation on his face, he turns back to the Tsarina and says, "Thank you for your Christmas gift. I don't mind that it was late." 

"Next time, I will not be late," the Tsarina reassures. "I hope you find good use out of it." 

"I will." 

Two minutes after the Tsarina hands back Artyom and walks away, Xenia makes her approach. She hovers nearby and smiles at the omega. "Sunny is in a good mood." 

Yuuri nods. He doesn't know. He hasn't spent much time with her, and he doubts he ever will. "You decided to not stay here." 

"Well, Sandro wanted a hotel and we needed our space. We arrived last week. The little one caught a cold, but he recovered a few days ago." 

"It is good to hear he is well. How about your other children?" 

Paling, she shakes her head, as if a sudden weight has settled onto her shoulders. "Always something. Either an accident or a scrap on the knee or something about lessons. Never have seven children or more. That is still my advice." 

"I can't imagine the two I have running around." 

"No need to use your imagination. It will happen sooner than you think." 

* * *

In the pile of letters addressed to Yuuri, a single light blue envelope catches the omega’s eyes. It’s simple, and the letter itself is thin. Yuuri’s address is written in tiny shaky words, difficult to see unless one strains their eyes. Still, the letter managed to arrive, carried over the sea and passed through the Trans-Siberian Railway to find its way to Kiev. The mail carrier used a sticker to label the letter in Russian, translating the address. There is no return address, but Yuuri already knows who sent the letter. The envelope has been decorated with splashed-ink dark grey chrysanthemum, the details skillfully created by paint. 

Without hesitation, Yuuri peels open the flap and unfolds the single sheet of paper, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. Mari has occasionally sent him letters, though she does not write as frequently as their parents. She details Kenjirou’s growth, rejoicing in every single milestone the young prince marks. Yuuri hasn’t seen the boy in years, though his sister has thoughtfully sent a photograph of him in the last letter. 

He reads through the kanji. 

_Dearest little brother,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I have enclosed a photograph of Kenjirou at the festivals. He loved the food and the dancing, but he especially enjoyed the fireworks. It's a strange, peculiar thing that he changed from the fussy baby who would jolt at the very sound of a cricket to a young boy eagerly clapping to the roar of the fireworks._

_It seems like just yesterday when I last saw you, all dressed in your wedding gown looking splendid and beautiful. Mama still has every single photograph you sent. She has heard about the birth of your second child and is eager to see him, though Father and Grandfather remain overly cautious about Mama traveling to Russia even with guards._

_Like father and I, she hasn't seen either of your children. I proposed a solution that was satisfactory to Grandfather and Grandmother. You and your family should travel to Japan for at least a month. It would bring joy to Mama, and Kenjirou can finally meet his cousins. I would also like to converse with your husband, though I'm afraid the quality of my English has declined since your wedding day._

_You can stay as long as you like and visit us at your convenience. I will order Ice Castle to be reopened to full service to accommodate your family. Write back soon, little brother, so I can telegram Minako-san the details of your arrival._

_You've been missed by all._

_Mari_

Ice Castle of Hasetsu. If Yuuri closes his eyes, he can perfectly recall the fine details of the shoreline seen from the high point. It is perfectly fortified, but he doubts there is much real danger in Japan, not the same sort as lurking in Russia. 

He is still mulling over the thought of traveling to Japan when he realizes he must ask Viktor for permission. He doesn't think the alpha would say no, but Yuuri abhors the idea of uprooting Viktor's schedule. If they visit Japan, it should be in the distant future, so that Viktor could have enough time to rearrange things. 

"You've been quiet all day," Viktor notes, returning to their bedroom empty-handed.

"Tyoma?" 

"With Guang Hong. Katyusha is with Yuri. I must say, his grumpy demeanor only makes Katyusha smile more. She thinks it's rather humorous," the alpha says, skewing his tie. He slips his shoes off and disappears behind the bathroom door, the faucet running. "But Yuura, what thoughts are you thinking tonight?" 

Watching Viktor returning to their bedroom, the omega waits for the other man to strip off his tie and then his grey vest. Lounging on the bed, he turns over to watch Viktor drop each piece of attire on the armchair with an awaiting eyebrow, quirking upwards as if amused. 

"Yuura, what are you thinking?" 

As he asks that question, Viktor smoothly unbuttons his collared shirt, affording Yuuri a view of sinewy, pale skin. There is the slightest hint of a bond mark, and before the omega loses track of his wits, he blurts out, "My sister invited us and the children to visit Japan." 

The alpha's fingers pause over the third button. "Oh? Did she have a date in mind?" 

"Whenever we find the most convenient." 

Viktor frowns. "Where do they want us to stay? The palace in Tokyo where your grandfather lives?" 

"No. Actually, Hasetsu. Ice Castle." 

"By the sea?" 

"Yes." 

The alpha’s eyes seem to sparkle. "How long are we allowed to stay?" 

"For as long as we want." 

There is something that looks like longing in Viktor's face, and the omega instantly knows that the other man will say yes, that they will go to Japan with Ekaterina and Artyom. There is no question about this, but there's something that appears like misgiving, resembling hesitation. "But wouldn't we bother the owner?" 

Yuuri can't stop the laugh spilling from his lips. "It is technically in Mari's care. She likes to use it as a summer home to avoid court." 

"Mari's care? But she is the owner, correct?" 

“No.” 

“No? Then who is?” 

“Me.” 

Tilting his head in confusion, Viktor blinks. “I thought omegas were forbidden from owning property in Japan. Like how they’re forbidden here as well.” 

Yuuri nods. “They are.” 

“Then how?” 

“I didn’t present when I was sixteen,” Yuuri explains after a moment. “They had a Seijin no Hi for me. A Coming of Age celebration. As tradition, small presents were given. In my case, the Emperor granted me the ownership of Ice Castle.” 

“So after you presented, what happened to Ice Castle?”

“Nothing,” the omega answers. “I think the Emperor might have forgotten he gave me Ice Castle. It is still technically mine, but ever since I came to Russia, I left its care to my sister. I sometimes wonder if I will be challenged for owning Ice Castle."

Viktor's frown deepens. Stripping out of his shirt, he unbuckles his belt and places his clothes in a neat pile on top of the armchair. Completely naked with pale scars across his chest and shoulders from training injuries, he reaches for the switch and turns off the light. He settles in bed, pulling the covers over them both. His arms easily find their way around Yuuri, his chin resting on the omega’s shoulder. Then he asks, “If you never presented as an omega, what would be doing right now?” 

“Because it is four thirty in the morning in Japan,” Yuuri reasons, keeping his face blank, “I would be sleeping.” 

Viktor laughs, his breaths tickling the other man’s neck. “But your life. What would you be studying? Would you be in school? Would you be in the military?” 

“Well,” the omega pauses. “Military, yes. I would probably be an officer or attending court to learn the ropes of being the Emperor." 

"Oh." The alpha sounds surprised, as if he has never considered Yuuri once eligible for the Japanese throne. "You would have been third in line. After your father and Mari." 

"Now my sister's son is third in line." 

"Do you miss not being an omega?" 

Sometimes, Yuuri thinks. But. "It does not do good for me to speculate on what will never happen. I learned to let it go a long time ago, and," he pauses, searching for his words, "if I had the ability to change the past, I don't think I would have changed a thing. About myself, about what happened, about anything." 

The alpha hums. "Would you indulge me in one more speculation?" 

"Mmm," the omega mumbles. "Just one more." 

"If you never married me and you stayed in Japan, what would you be doing?" 

"I will have many alphas seeking my hand in marriage because of my relation to the throne." There is a soft snort from Viktor, but Yuuri ignores it. "In between fending off abhorrent suitors and greedy hands, I will probably run into an obnoxious bureaucrat who will seek to challenge me about Ice Castle and my property rights." It's not a big secret among the elites of Japan of Ice Castle's ownership. But Yuuri has made some enemies here and there who might try to irritate him by invoking the property laws and forcing the Emperor to turn his eye to his grandson. "I think I would work on improving the rights and lives of omegas. There was a time where we were seen as equals, a time where there were Japanese rulers who were omegas and omegas could own and inherit under their own names. I wish I could still do it, but. . ." 

"You can do it in Russia." 

"Children and education is easy. They respect my realm of authority and they approve of my attentive nature, but once I step out of the box to empower the omegas, they will never accept me,” Yuuri says, knowing every word is true. 

"I think you’ll find Russia is more accepting than you think.” 

“I don’t think they are ready yet.” The omega can think of all the policies against omegas’ and women’s rights. They could not own property, and some schools barricade girls’ entry to their education, insisting that boys be kept separate from girls. Not in Kiev, however. Yuuri saw the extinction of that rule and others as part of an agreement to his donation and gifts of luxurious goods, despite the shifty eyes of some annoyed bureaucrats. That being said, Russia is still one of the more progressive Western nations, possessing a great number of omega doctors, teachers, and nurses. 

Yuuri knows it’s a small act to change the lives of children. It’s another thing to fight for the improvement in the lives of the underclass. 

“You never know if you never try.” 

Yuuri lies there, his alpha’s limbs gripping him like an octopus’ tentacles. In a confused voice, he wonders, “Are you. . . encouraging me?” 

Viktor presses a kiss against the curve of the omega’s neck. Then pulling back, he breathes, “Of course. Always.” 

Together, they rest in silence. 

Then in a casual voice, as if he’s merely asking for Yuuri’s taste in tea flavors, the alpha inquires, “Want to have sex?” 

The omega can’t stop the snicker from sputtering out through his nose. Covering his mouth, he laughs. Then he nods. “Vitya, you. . . You just surprised me.” 

"Is that a no?" 

Yuuri doesn't need light to know there's a silly but lovable pout playing on his alpha's lips. Feeling a surprising playfulness, the omega retorts, "It is not a no, but I was hoping I would be seduced first. Maybe wined and dined." 

"Hmm." The alpha rolls onto his side, tucking his palm underneath his cheek as he hovers over Yuuri in the darkness. "Flowers? Carnations? Or oleanders?" 

"Oleanders?" 

“The scent that matches yours.” 

“I’ve been told it smells more like vanilla.” 

“No, I’m quite certain it is the scent of oleanders. I made the comparison by chance when I was running through the gardens. The head gardener decided to grow them after seeing them in the market.” Viktor turns away, his arm reaching into the night stand. He fishes for a condom. “Oleanders do not tend to grow in Kiev. It’s not a plant native to Russia.” 

“And vanilla is?” 

“Well, vanilla doesn’t naturally grow in Russia either. But oleanders are prettier.” Fumbling, he slips his hands underneath the sheets, presumably to slip on the condom. 

“You know they’re reusable. You wash them out and reuse,” the omega points out, shifting his legs to pull up his nightgown. It bunches around his waist, and he holds his breath when Viktor returns to scent the curve of his neck, the alpha’s lips parted to skim the pale skin, leaving behind a trail of tantalized nerves. Yuuri relishes the alpha’s arms as they come to securely wrap him, his bare hip pressing against Viktor’s thigh. 

“Mmm,” Viktor murmurs, sounding quite unimpressed with all the holier-than-thou attitude of a rich man who doesn’t need to reuse condoms to save some roubles. In a rumble, he growls, “But why should I wash them when I can instead be buried inside you?” 

Well, when Viktor puts it like that. . .

Yuuri surges, pushing himself up until he straddles Viktor’s stomach. Slick drips down his inner thighs, and the omega’s thighs quiver. He swoops down, capturing his husband’s lips in a soft kiss. His hand moves downwards, his fingers wrapping around the alpha’s erection. He swallows down his protests about Viktor’s single-use choices made for reusable rubber condoms, banishing them out of his mind. If he would rather be buried in Yuuri, then Yuuri can only oblige him. After all, it’s only fair. 

Viktor easily glides in with a grunt, returning to his rightful place. His hands capture each side of the omega's hips, every inch of friction wondrously delicious. 

Though Yuuri's cheeks sometimes tinge with pink whenever he thinks such lewd thoughts, the omega _knows_ that ever since his alpha first entered him, Viktor has thoroughly carved out a place for himself so deep that Yuuri can feel him pulsing like a second heart. The depth of his own desire nearly frightens the omega. Though he would like to give in to the intense pressure to move, there is a clamoring part inside him that would like nothing better than to sheathe his alpha's cock and knot for hours, forcing him to remain exactly where he belongs. Sometimes when Yuuri fails to wake up early enough to mate with his alpha, the omega fantasizes himself limping into Viktor's study, where he knows the man is working on paperwork, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration; Yuuri would like nothing more than to distract his alpha and send him into a fevered thrall where he would hurriedly and desperately cast aside his stacks of reports to have Yuuri wrapped tight around him. 

Tonight, Yuuri takes control, rocking himself slowly as his alpha merely guides him, his hands still locked upon the omega's hips. It's something slow, a change of pace from rough and fast matings and stolen moments in between the time spent rearing their children. Here, Yuuri reaches out with his hands to map out every scar and curve of his alpha's shoulders. 

“Zolotse,” Viktor whispers, his words a soft caress against Yuuri’s cheek. “You’re so good to me.” 

Yuuri doesn’t know what words to say, but he rolls his hips, shoving himself so Viktor can deeply stretch him, impaling him at his molten core. It’s the sort of intimacy Yuuri loves, and it feels as if there is no other place the omega belongs. "Vitya, I—” His words disappear, tightly trapped in his throat. 

"Shh, I know," the alpha breathes. “I know.”

Then Yuuri moves, eagerly receiving his alpha’s thrusts. He relishes the bite of Viktor’s fingernails digging into his hips, leaving his half-moon marks on the omega’s pale skin. He clenches hard around his alpha, his moans escaping from his lips. The covers slip off, and the cool air brushes and hardens his nipples, droplets of milk leaking. A sudden desire strikes Yuuri. He wants to see Viktor’s every expression, he wants for his alpha to see him, he wants to see desire sweeping away all the composed thoughts Viktor may have. He wants to see the awe settle in Viktor’s eyes and to witness the wild possessiveness spread across the alpha’s face, perfectly matching his scent. 

The knot pops in, Yuuri’s thighs trembling under the force of his release. He collapses onto his alpha’s torso, his neck bare and curved as he receives the bite once again. The omega moans, wonderfully stretched out and claimed in the most primal of ways. He shivers when Viktor’s fingers gently pinch the omega’s hardened peak, drawing a drop of milk to his own lips. 

“So sweet,” the alpha whispers, tasting the droplet. 

It feels all too soon when Viktor’s knot shrinks. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri whines, a tone of complaint in his voice. 

“Insatiable one,” the alpha fondly murmurs. He slips free from Yuuri’s gaping hole, wet and dripping with slick. Sitting up, he removes the condom and plants the used rubber on the nightstand. “Turn over onto your back and spread your legs for me, Yuura.” 


	9. Chapter II

Tyotya Maria, who has raised a small horde of children, is correct, and if Yuuri was to tell her how right she is, he suspects she would not gloat but merely pass on further advice, knowing the omega is still learning the delicate role of parenthood. It helps when Yuri, Yuuko, and Guang Hong are available to chase after Ekaterina, who has discovered the various bookshelves scattered around the palace and viewed them as a climbing wall. Even Viktor, who is not home enough due to military obligations, has noticed their firstborn's habits and joy in retrieving her shiny treasures from the top shelf, Vicchan barking underneath in warning. 

"Katyusha," Viktor scolds one evening, easily prying her off the oak shelf. "You're going to fall down and get hurt." 

She pouts and stretches her arms back to the shelf, as if Viktor would return her. "I can do it," she insists. She points at a little doll figurine, her nose wrinkled in concentration. 

Time moves quickly, and through the months, they design and assign Artyom his own room. It is a few doors away from their bedroom and across the hall from Ekaterina's. There are no windows, but there is a secret passageway leading to the attic, which is also connected to the dumbwaiter that stops at every storey. Yuuri doesn't think Artyom will find it anytime soon, but he does worry that Ekaterina might. Still, he doesn't want his son to be trapped in his room if anything dire happens. 

Even though Artyom has his own room, Yuuri doesn't let the boy out of his or Guang Hong's sight. And every night before he sends the babe off to Guang Hong's care, he reads him a small passage from the historical book the omega is currently reading. The focus of tonight's book is on the American Civil War. Yuuri doesn't believe Artyom will understand anything about it, but he hopes his heir will familiarize himself with history. He will need to learn the mistakes and successes of the past to forge his own future. 

Once Yuuri has sent off the sleeping baby into Guang Hong's care, he returns to his armchair to finish off the chapter. 

"You don't read stories to Katyusha," Viktor notes from their bed. Dressed in a loose silk shirt and matching white bottoms, he flips through his reports, squinting at the print on each page. 

"It's not a story. It's history." A pause. "Besides, Tyoma can't complain about what I read to him." 

Viktor brings up a valid observation. It's true that Yuuri doesn't read stories to Ekaterina. Viktor does, but he still gives plenty of opportunities for Yuuri to read to her, yet he rarely takes them. However, Yuuri knows why. Ekaterina, when she grows older, will be married off to secure alliances with another royal house. Even if she presents as an alpha, in Russia, there is no priority for her to learn how to manipulate the intricate histories of other nations, to understand the complex culture that binds a state together, to remember the bloody generational rivalries between groups. She can learn these things in time, whereas Artyom must know and breathe politics from the start. Yuuri must funnel every shred of knowledge and tactics he knows into his son, ensuring he has all the tools at his disposal. 

However, Ekaterina will make an excellent bargaining chip.

* * *

Phichit has tried his best to solve every problem that arises when it comes to the programs and Kiev's public education. However, polite but strongly worded letters from St. Petersburg suggest certain changes in the schools’ curriculum and a reduction in the percentage of Jewish students. The new Minister of Education Aleksander Shvarts, who has replaced Kaufman, has turned his eye onto Kiev and seeks to impose his own personal touch on the public education systems. 

“I thought I had it handled,” Phichit apologetically says in Japanese, sipping tea from the couch. He sets the porcelain cup back on the saucer, returning it to the coffee table. He throws his hands up with no shortage of exasperation. “I mentioned it to you briefly about Kaufman’s exit from the position, but I did not know how hostile the new Minister of Education is until he started writing those letters and threatening to pull back funding from the central government if Kiev doesn’t give in to those demands.” 

With one hand on the wooden cradle, Yuuri sighs. “But he hasn’t actually done it yet?” 

“No.” The assistant shakes his head and adds, “We know that the Tsar would approve of Shvarts’ actions. He abhors the Jewish population in Russia. There aren’t that many, but if he could get rid of them all, he would.” 

“His main priority is the Jews?” 

“And women and omegas. The local university and the medical school said they received general letters to reduce the number of female students and to completely ban omegas outright. All in the name of improving education quality.” The other man smirks and adds, “But they’ve tossed the letters and the professors have elected to ignore any mandates. I think the general consensus is that everyone hates Shvarts.” 

"Maybe ignore him and treat him as if he isn't the Minister of Education? If everyone hates him, I doubt he can possibly control every school defiant to him nor can he punish them all." 

"He still has control over the central government's monetary allocation to the local schools." Phichit pauses. "But we are off-setting the costs to the program. Not as much as I hoped due to the dry summer, but it is working. We can try to subsidize the government's portion if they stopped funding the local schools." 

Yuuri nods. "Put the universities on the list. It sounds like they may need it." 

"Already have them." 

The omega grins at his assistant. Phichit knows him so well. "Anything else that needs my attention?" 

"The local orphanages would like to thank you for your donation of shoes and clothing to the children," the assistant informs. "Some of the children wrote a nice letter to thank you."

* * *

By the time they’ve packed for Japan in early September and Viktor has notified the military of his long absence, Artyom has started to learn how to crawl. He especially enjoys rolling, giggling and drooling in delight when Vicchan joins him and playfully rolls over. Yuuri has also heard the verbal relief expressed by the maids when the puppy has finally stopped urinating everywhere and learned to go on his daily walks. He thinks he sees some of them _flinch_ when Viktor off-handedly mentions getting a second dog for Artyom, leading Yuuri to suggest an older but trained dog within the maids’ earshot. 

With Ekaterina in Viktor’s arms and Artyom napping in the stroller, the family travels to Moscow by train, leaving behind a skeleton crew of Yuuko, Phichit, and their assistants to run business in Kiev. Ekaterina’s awe is infectious, and her azure eyes are blown wide as she sees places she has never seen before, pointing out churches, mountains, and lakes. 

“Where is Vicchan?” Ekaterina asks in English, pouting. 

Stepping off the train, the alpha kisses her temple. “Katyusha, he’s with Guang Hong. Don’t worry about Vicchan. You’ll play with him later.” 

“Okay.” 

“Ice cream?”

“Ice cream!” she cheers, raising her fists and immediately forgetting about Vicchan. “But where?” 

An entire coach of the Trans-Siberian train has been reserved for them. The interior is posh with bolted furniture including a coffee table, two beds, and a stationary desk. Someone has installed a crib for Artyom by the beds, taking care to securely nail and bolt the wooden piece to the floor. A pile of their suitcases are already being stowed away into a cabinet by Takeshi. 

In English, the Japanese guard inquires, “Do you want the dog out of his carrier?” 

“No, we’ll release him once the doors close,” Yuuri answers, shaking his head. “Can you fetch some ice cream from the lounge car?” 

“What flavor?” 

“Strawberry!” Ekaterina demands before anyone else can say anything, wiggling in Viktor’s arms. 

“As you wish,” the guard says, nodding. “Anything else?” 

“No, thank you, Takeshi. That would be all,” Viktor replies after a moment, seeing the omega shake his head. 

The train makes good time, passing through Kirov and Perm. A stop at Yekaterinburg allows them to step off for an hour for fresh air. With Artyom in his arms, Yuuri watches his husband and daughter find a tree. On his leash, Vicchan takes the opportunity to urinate on a pine trunk and then bounds around the platform, sniffing black clumps of dirt and particles on the ground. 

“Yekaterinburg? Like me?” Ekaterina asks, her pronunciation slightly off on the city but still understandable. She grips Viktor’s fingers, taking care to not wander off. 

The alpha laughs, bending down to pick the girl up. “No, not quite. Yekaterinburg is named after Ekaterina the Second. They call her Catherine the Great in English, but she was the greatest Empress and an omega. Under her rule of thirty-four years, Russia prospered and grew in strength and might. And you, you’re named after her.” 

It’s all too soon when they must return to the train, stepping aboard. After Yekaterinburg, the train shuffles by cities and mountains alike, occasionally slowing to a snail’s pace to avoid derailment. Novonikolayevsk, Krasnoyarsk, and a brush by Lake Baikal. It is almost two weeks before they reach the very eastern side of Russia and to a port city called Vladivostok. In Japanese, its name is Urajiosutoku. Ever since the end of the war, the city has expanded and found an economic boom, filling in Russia’s loss of Port Arthur to Japan. 

More than capable of carrying a hundred people, a majestic schooner with white sails waits for them at the dock. Once all the suitcases and baggages have been stowed away in the proper compartments, Yuuri holds Artyom in his arms as the boat pushes away from land. The omega breathes in the heady scent of salt in the morning breeze, his face turning towards the east, towards the rising sun, towards Japan. 

It's days of slow sailing with calm light blue waters churning below, and Yuuri is grateful no one grew seasick. 

"I'm glad my cousin let us borrow this," Viktor says at dinner. The entire family eats together on the deck, observing the sun soaring overhead and the endless bounds of the sea stretching in all directions. There is not even a cloud in the sky as Viktor carefully cuts up pieces of pork for Ekaterina. "It's a nice boat, isn't it?" 

"Yes," Yuuri agrees, keeping an eye on Artyom lying on a blanket rolled over the deck. The size of the boat is rather extravagant, and the interior is decorated with what appears to be actual gold with real crystals dangling from the chandeliers. All the chandeliers, Yuuri believes. 

A loud horn blasts from the southwest, signaling the approach of another boat. 

Viktor quickly rises from his chair, setting down the knife. Squinting towards the distance, he shouts in Russian to the Captain rushing out of his cabin, "That looks like a battleship!" 

Picking up his crawling son from the deck, Yuuri's heart misses a beat. A battleship? He doubts they will attack a civilian ship in times of peace, but it is strange for one to single out a ship unless they have a strong reason to do so. Or an order. 

"Yes," the Captain confirms. To a sailor, he barks out an order, “Heaving-to!” 

The battleship remains at a distance, slowing down and leaving a line of grey smoke blowing in her wake. She is steam-powered and far larger than the schooner, easily outweighing and outclassing the civilian boat. A lone figure in standard white uniform stands on the grey-black battleship's deck, and Yuuri manages to see the seaman salute them. 

"Imperial Navy. Japan," Viktor realizes, upon recognizing the waving flag of a rising sun it proudly wears. 

"Satsuma," Yuuri says, reading the kanji painted in white on her bow. "Her name is Satsuma." 

Then the battleship picks up speed, traveling north and pulling away from the schooner. The Satsuma blasts its foghorn one more time before growing smaller and smaller until she is a mere speck in the distance. 

The sound of a horn from the east draws their attention to another military boat moving towards them. It is smaller than the Satsuma, perhaps only a third of her size, but it is still twice as large as the schooner. Like the Satsuma, it bears the proud whipping flag of a red rising sun. 

“I know that boat,” Viktor grimly states, staring at the ship. “The Akagi.” 

Yuuri frowns at the ship. There is only one reason why Viktor would recognize that ship, and it’s because of her role at Port Arthur during the war. The omega doesn’t know what role she played; he doesn’t remember the exact locations or the names of every ship in the Japanese navy. 

"They are pulling up against us," the Captain announces. He turns to Viktor and asks, "What do you want us to do?" 

"Anchor," the alpha answers, hesitating as though he wishes to give a different order. "We should see what they want." A pause and he switches to English. "Yuura, do you know what is going on?" 

The omega shakes his head. 

They can do nothing but watch as the gunboat clears the distance between the two ships. Yuuri's guards nervously stand in front of Yuuri and Artyom, a small human barrier. Viktor's guards fare no better, hands at ready on their firearms. They stiffen as sailors board the yacht, a line of them standing with impersonal expressions. They raise their hand up in a salute as a naval officer steps aboard the schooner, her steps steady across the deck. 

The Japanese guards, the ones who are still enlisted in the army like Ren, fall in line, immediately straightening their postures, lifting their hand to salute the officer. Then they step aside to allow her to pass. 

"I apologize for coming aboard without permission," the officer says in English, stepping in front of Yuuri. "But I knew that a ship with a Russian name would be carrying some important passengers. I've been waiting for you to approach Hasetsu for days." 

The omega smiles, relaxing. "Hello, Mari." 

"Mind if we escort you to Hasetsu?" 

"Not at all," Viktor interjects, a polite but indifferent smile pasted on his lips. "You should join us as we pull into the port. Make up for lost time." 

"I would like that. It's been three years since I've last seen him." In Japanese, Mari orders the sailors to disperse and return to the gunboat. Most of them do except for the princess's personal guards, standing stoically behind her. 

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” Yuuri asks.

* * *

“I didn’t know Mari would do that,” the omega says in the safety of their cabin. With Artyom safely in the care of Guang Hong, he quickly folds his clothes and shoves them into a suitcase. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watches Viktor pause in his step, gently setting down the case and then sitting on the bed. 

“It was. . . a little unsettling,” he admits. “I know that it was unlikely for the military to do anything during these times. We’re not at war, and we are somewhat tentative trading partners.”

It didn’t help that they spent a few minutes nearly posturing right before the chef brought a chair to the deck and partially defused the tension. Thankfully, the guards didn’t interfere and no one thought they would come to blows, but it was clear that Mari made a misstep in boarding them without prior permission, which she has apologized for several times over lunch while Yuuri played mediator and changed the subject of conversation to something less inflammatory. Viktor only relaxed once Mari left with the gunboat to attend to further military duties. 

After hauling their suitcases into the automobiles with the help of many servants and guards, Takeshi drives them to Ice Castle, easily maneuvering around the twisting roads and the seemingly unexpected appearance of lush trees still glowing with leaves. Thankfully, the guard does not drive like he once did in America or else Artyom might wake up to cry in protest of Takeshi's erratic driving.

When Ice Castle rises before their eyes and the trees clear away, Yuuri glances over to watch Viktor’s expression, which is mixed with awe and surprise. The omega, who has lived at and seen and improved Ice Castle with renovations years ago, would rather watch the alpha. He feels a quick flush crawl up his neck as he softly notes, “I know it doesn’t look anything like the palaces and castles in Europe, but I hope you will like it here.” 

“I’ve never seen a castle like this before.” A pause. “It may not look anything like the European ones, but it has its own charm and spirit, Yuura. It looks lovely.” 

The omega smiles, quietly pleased. He takes a look at the castle. He doesn’t think Mari has accidentally burnt it down while he was away, and to his relief, it hasn’t been. The castle’s tower was created to be the tallest building in Hasetsu, capable of posting guards at the topmost level so they could watch westward towards the sea for invaders and enemies. The castle’s innermost complex is fortified by gates and walls to provide a strong defense. Though the castle is a proud monument today, it fell into disarray over the centuries until Yuuri got his hands on it and made suitable changes from a telephone line to an improved plumbing system to major repairs of the roof. Most castles in Japan are not that lucky and were, in fact, demolished for land. The Ice Castle, when it was in the Emperor’s hands, was said to be too expensive to be demolished with its interlinking buildings and stone foundation. 

With Artyom sleeping in his arms, Yuuri softly explains, “Ten years ago, this place was barely surviving. The castle, which has stood here for three centuries against all odds, was slated to be demolished. It was like a bad omen. The nearby town of Hasetsu was decaying as well, families leaving for green pastures.” 

“What happened?” 

“I became of age,” Yuuri answers. “Then the castle was given to me.” There is a little more to the story, but the omega merely smiles, keeping the rest of the story to himself. “Two years of repairments got us to where it is today. I made it better than it was.” And he can’t deny the pride shining in his words. He _knows_ Ice Castle wouldn’t be standing here the way it is today if it wasn’t for Yuuri taking an interest in the old buildings. “Some of the buildings at the outer edge of the complex are open to the public. People travel here during the spring to see cherry blossoms and to visit the castle. This castle brought business and new life to Hasetsu. People returned.” 

“You made the town better than it was.” 

The omega startles. It reminds him of what somebody said a long time ago, and he nods, accepting those words. “Yes, I supposed I did.” 

* * *

_Aiko Nakamura, an alpha diplomat to Russia, visited Yuuri in Kiev in lieu of Morooka himself. She apologized for the other alpha's busy schedule and then passed the omega an official gift from the Emperor to celebrate Artyom's birth. It was a young bonsai tree encased by an expensive ceramic vase created by a famous artisan Yuuri couldn't care any less about._

_But he smiled anyway and profusely thanked the diplomat for delivering the gift. Ekaterina's gift was more useful. The Empress decided to bestow a gold necklace on her first great-granddaughter and granted her a small collection of Japanese poetry to stimulate her mind._

_The diplomat, once she cleared through official business with all the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, turned her attention to Yuri Plisetsky. In Japanese, she informed the omega, "He is only fifteen years old. He was born as Yuri Kuznetsov and raised in St. Petersburg. His grandfather, Nikolai Plisetsky, sits on the Imperial Duma, representing the Constitutional Democrats."_

_If the Duma had more political power, if it was just as powerful as its counterpart in Great Britain, then perhaps this connection would be useful to Yuuri. For now, it was only an interesting fact, like a polished stone resting on a bookshelf among other useless knickknacks._

_"Did you find out why he ran all the way to Kiev?"_

_"No, and one of the associates mentioned that no one back in St. Petersburg knew he presented as an omega. None of his classmates understood why he left, and he is actually reported as a missing person," she said._

_Yuuri frowned, but he spoke no more of Yuri Plisetsky. He had no interest in reporting Yuri's reappearance in Kiev to St. Petersburg authorities. "Did you find anything about the tutor?"_

_"He has a well-established history in Russia. Though he stayed in the palace while working for Sergei and Elisabeth before Sergei was assassinated, he had an apartment in the city that he rented. It seemed strange, because why rent an apartment when you could live for free in a palace? We were unable to find out if he spent much time in that apartment or if he even used it at all. None of the neighbors were able to remember a French man residing in that apartment."_

_"How about his background in France?"_

_"Nothing yet. We haven't sent an associate out to confirm his background nor determine if he was born in Nice."_

_Yuuri nodded. He didn't expect anything to be found, though having an apartment while living in a palace sounded a little strange to the omega. It was possible that the tutor only used the apartment for his heats and remained at the palace for most of the year, but he did not bring up the possibility to the diplomat. "Is there anything else you would like to tell me?"_

_"No."_

_Yuuri dismissed her, wishing her a pleasant day._

* * *

It's not even a full week in Japan before a newspaper with dramatic headlines crosses in front of Yuuri. Forgetting himself in surprise, he holds up the newspaper and exclaims, "Look at this." 

Sitting cross-legged on the other side of the small rectangular table, Viktor stares at the paper. He has barely mastered the art of chopsticks, but he has decided to completely forgo forks and spoons for breakfast this morning. "Uhh," he pauses awkwardly, ducking his head with a blush as he hurriedly returns his gaze to his udon noodles, "that is in Japanese and I can't read it." 

The omega flushes in embarrassment. He turns the newspaper back to himself, shifting his eyes downwards so he doesn't have to see his alpha's expression. "I'm sorry. I forgot, but the news is important." 

"How important?" 

"Austria-Hungary has announced their decision to annex Bosnia. Serbia is protesting the annexation. They're saying it's a violation of the Treaty of Berlin." 

If Yuuri remembers correctly, the Treaty of Berlin was signed in 1878. Among the signatories are France, Germany, Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire, Great Britain, Italy, and Russia. The treaty ended Russia's war against the Ottoman Empire and redesigned territorial boundaries in the Balkans. 

Viktor straightens, an immediate frown formed on his lips. "I don't know if Russia will let that stand. Russia is a signatory to that treaty."

Yuuri pauses, trying to bite his alarm back. Carefully phrasing his words, he asks, "Do you think your brother will fight them on that?" 

"I don't know, but we are not ready for a war," the alpha says. "We can't face them, and without a doubt, Germany is allying itself with Austria-Hungary." 

"Would you think Russia will dare fight two empires on its own?" 

Viktor, his finger resting underneath his chin in thought, shakes his head. "That would be suicide unless France decides to object to the annexation and sides with us. Maybe Britain as well. Otherwise, it would be foolish to instigate war over Bosnia." He shuts his eyes in thought, his head bowed as if in a prayer to hope that war would not come out of this crisis. 

"Do you think you will need to go back to Russia? To prepare in case there may be a war?" 

Viktor shakes his head again, rising from the floor. "I will check on Tyoma and then send a telegram to ask if I’m needed." 

The omega, sitting quietly with the newspaper ink staining his fingers, watches him abandon his meal and leave. He doesn't know much about the readiness of Russia's military forces. The Russian Navy itself suffered a horrible blow by the Japanese forces, and the omega suspects they have not yet fully recovered from the war, having lost several of their warships and various weapons. He sets the newspaper down and turns to Ekaterina, who stabs at her food with chopsticks. In Japanese, he says, "Be gentle." He reaches out and attempts to fix her hand positioning. His daughter grips them as if wielding a knife. 

With a frown, she unhappily demands, "Fork." 

* * *

No war breaks out, and Yuuri is relieved to find Viktor relaxing once again. War is not useful to anyone and especially not for Yuuri, though a war with Austria-Hungary and Germany may do much to discredit the Tsarina, a former German princess, in the eyes of the Russian people. 

Yuuri can't help but notice the stress fade away from Viktor's shoulders as he sinks into the wonders of Japan, shouting "Vskuno" whenever he discovers something tasty. The alpha smiles nearly all the time when a telegram returns to inform him that he is not expected to board the soonest ship heading to Russia. In the meanwhile, the family spends time traveling around Hasetsu and acclimating themselves to the Far East. 

The omega is not blind enough to not notice that Viktor's personal guards have relaxed also, as if they've come to realize Japan is completely unlike Russia. Few threats, if any, exist here, and there are no radicals lurking behind every curtain and shadow, their fingertips black with gunpowder and pockets filled with improvised explosives. Though the Russian guards knew that the Tsar was once nearly assassinated in Japan before he ascended the throne decades ago, they did not believe Viktor and the family’s safety were at high risk. 

The town of Hasetsu welcomes them. 

The family rarely follows a strict schedule. Yuuri knows they will be expected to attend a welcoming party at the Imperial Palace next week, but in the meanwhile, Viktor seems happy to walk along the piers with Ekaterina barely able to grip her entire hand around her father’s two fingers. The fishermen all know them by name, cheerfully waving and greeting them in Japanese. 

“Ohayo!” Viktor says, his lips pulled into an easy grin. He waves back at them. 

Ekaterina copies and waves, echoing the alpha without a Russian accent. Between Yuuko and Yuuri, she has been picking up enough Japanese to speak the language flawlessly. 

Walking behind them both, Yuuri can't help but smile. He pushes the stroller, Artyom wide awake but quiet as he observes the world. "You should see the start of the forest now. There is a sign pointing to the trail." He bites back a laugh as the duo begins to run, racing to the path. "Be careful! Watch your step!" 

Every fall, many Japanese people participate in momijigari, where they would flock to the forest to view the leaves turning red in preparation of the oncoming winter. It's an old tradition, dating back centuries as an intellectual pursuit. But even without the intellectual aspect, no one could deny how beautiful the forest is during autumn with its wonderful hues of orange and red, settling on top of trees like a warm blanket. 

Yuuri's steps are light as his sandals crush leaves underneath his foot. He smiles as he watches his daughter and husband rush ahead, running deeper into the path as they collect leaves. Viktor has promised to Ekaterina that he would show her how to preserve leaves and flowers between books, so they can enjoy the memories years later. 

And when they wait for him at the Buddhist temple a little up ahead in the dirt path, the omega can't help but feel carefree, as light as the seagulls soaring overhead.

* * *

A train takes the family to Tokyo, running through Fukuoka, Hiroshima, and Kyoto. Ekaterina glances out of the window, her eyes wide in curiosity as she points out the paddy fields growing rice and various shrines towering on top of lush hills. Viktor and Yuuri take turns in introducing new words for Ekaterina to use, though it takes three or four tries for her to understand the concept of the horse-drawn reaper. However, she is enchanted by the sight of cherry blossom trees decked out in their usual autumn coloring of dark pink and orange, eagerly shouting “sakura” at every tree she spies, which is many. 

They arrive in the empire’s capital city, just in time for lunch with the Empress. Yuuri’s grandmother appears to have aged many years since the omega has last seen her. She still wears a pair of fabulous zori, handcrafted by artisans to be decorated with swimming koi underneath the empress’ toes. 

Yuuri barely manages to seize the teapot to pour them all tea, leaving the empress to be slightly miffed. He knows better than to let his grandmother hold the teapot or else she may accidentally drown them all in tea, insisting on refilling their cups over and over again. Yuuri would be forced to repeatedly drink, too polite to refuse his grandmother’s hospitality, and he knows Viktor would too, following the old adage of doing what Romans do in Rome. 

The empress doesn’t speak a lick of English, so they make do with Yuuri translating back and forth between English and Japanese. Though hard of hearing, she talks softly and asks in Japanese, “How is Russia?” 

“Cold,” Yuuri answers. 

Behind her teacup, the empress frowns at him. “Do you like it there?”

“I do,” the omega admits. “I do like it there.” 

“How about society? Are they treating you well? I heard many things about the Western gossip newspapers.” 

“Don’t worry.” Yuuri thinks back to the first and only salon he has ever hosted. The Kiev society remains as dull and uninsightful and ill-inspiring as he has always imagined it. He recalls one omega named Yelena Lebedyova, whose words and attitude led to the strengthening of Yuuri’s belief in the uselessness of high society. 

“My inner omega knows that I must relax and destress to unleash my spiritual potential. Borya's inner alpha, on the other hand, remains stormy as I seek the higher planes,” she had loftily said, surrounded by other omegas who were just as unimaginative as her. With beady dark green eyes, she turned to Yuuri and asked, “Your Highness, what does your inner omega tell you?” 

Yuuri had been too polite to voice his fine opinion that his inner omega was telling him to strangle her with his bare hands. He pasted on a placid smile and stated, “That the champagne is lovely tonight. I do like the ones from France. They produce some of the finest products in the world.” 

“What is that look on your face?” the old omega wonders aloud, setting down her teacup. “You look rather ill.” 

“I just remembered something,” he replies. 

“You tell me not to worry and then you say you remember something awful.” 

“I did not say it was awful.” 

“It looked awful from your expression,” his grandmother comments, her dark eyes as sharp as ever. She doesn’t glance at Viktor and her great-grandchildren when she casually inquires, “Is he a good husband?”

Craning his head, Yuuri peeks at his husband, who seems unaware of their conversation as he awkwardly teaches Ekaterina how to hold a pair of chopsticks without stabbing her food. Pouring his grandmother more tea, he says, “Isn’t it obvious? He is better than what I could ever ask for.” And every word drips with honesty. 

“Good.” His grandmother relaxes and nods, brushing a grey strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’m glad.” A pause. “You didn’t tell anyone that you agreed to the marriage.” 

“There was an announcement made.”

She wrinkles her nose. “You should have told us instead of letting everyone hear about it through the papers. If I had known you or my stupid husband kept it as a secret for months without saying a word to anyone, I would have said something. Your sister, although she has calmed now, was about to restart the war with Russia when she heard the news.” 

Yuuri doesn’t think Mari actually would. Thousands have died on both sides, and it's not worth going against the Emperor and Yuuri's will. 

"Your mother and I talked sense into her. Japan could not afford to lose more than it already has, and we reminded her that you agreed to the conditions of the treaty," she says, sipping from her teacup. "The war, as you already knew, created a massive deficit." 

The omega nods, reaching for his husband's cup to pour Viktor some more tea. 

The alpha beams. "Thank you, zolotse." Then he turns his attention back to Ekaterina, combing through her long silver hair for stray twigs stuck in between strands. 

The old omega tucks her palm underneath her chin. With her other hand tracing the patterns on her teacup, she muses, "He could make a good emperor one day. Under your tutelage. He has little ego and arrogance, and he is happy to listen to you. You have him wrapped around your finger." 

Yuuri doesn't dare glance at his husband again, afraid Viktor may suspect that he's their topic of discussion. "He is also loyal to his brother. To a fault."

"A family man," she realizes, meeting Yuuri's eyes with approval. "A good alpha but not quite a good leader. Nevertheless, leadership can be learned. You would do well to remember that as you prepare not just your son but also him for the throne."

* * *

_The intruder slid the door open, walking into Yuuri's private quarters without a warning. The door was then slid back, and the omega's grandmother came forward into view, her face unimpressed. She gazed down at the omega's prone figure and tugged the blankets off Yuuri's body, surprisingly quick despite her age. "So you presented as an omega. You smell and look as if your mate has died. Which can't be possible, because you haven't bonded with anyone yet."_

_Yuuri didn't move, not even to pay respect to the Empress. His vision was swimming, and he was numb to the world._

_"Two months of_ this," _she said with a particular tone of distaste in her mouth. "If this setback has stopped you from living for months, then you are not the boy I thought you were, Yuuri."_

_"But I presented as an omega," he croaked out into his pillow._

_"Psh," she snorted. "So? Fate did not bow down to your whims nor did the stars align for you. The world doesn't care. The world doesn't stop, because you presented as an omega. Maybe you are not the alpha you've always wanted, but you are suffering from a serious misconception that omegas are weak."_

_"It's not that," Yuuri protested._

_"As the only daughter," she started, "I hoped to present as an alpha. But I didn't, and I did not let that stop me. My parents were aging, and they gladly passed the issue of my marriage into my own hands. I leveraged my way into your grandfather's bed and became the Empress. If I was an alpha, I could not achieve what I've done."_

_"But that is you. That is not me."_

_"Yuuri, you and I are a lot more alike than you think," she said, moving to sit on the omega's bed. "Of course, it is not easy to secure my position to where it is today. There were many challenges I had to overcome."_

_And for the first time since his presentation, Yuuri's mind felt startlingly clear. His heart skipped a beat as he lifted his head to his grandmother, suddenly seeing her as a stranger and wondering if she was behind the disappearance of his grandfather's first intended and the strange accidental death of the original heir and the subsequent tragic suicide of the heir's concubine mother. There was a moment of consideration that she had eliminated every single rival to place her own blood on the throne._

_His grandmother smiled serenely down upon him. "My grandson, let me teach you how to be an omega. But first, a bath is in order. You stink."_

* * *

At night, Yuuri helps Ekaterina put on a traditional blue kimono with pink sakuras patterned into the garment. He ignores the twist of pout on her lips when she slips her feet into sandals, but she does allow the omega to arrange her silver hair into double buns behind her head. Once he secures her hair, he nods to himself. "There, Katyusha, you're ready now." 

She frowns, resigned to the horrible fact that she must attend a party. 

Yuuri can't blame her. If he had a choice, he wouldn't attend either. "It's time, Katyusha. We don't want to be late. Go downstairs with your father. I need to get Tyoma." 

Together, they make a small entrance at the banquet hall. Yuuri briefly glances around, taking note of the old historical vases and the prized bonsai trees planted on pale columns. The Emperor himself is nowhere to be found, but men and women dressed in both Western attire and kimonos chatter in small groups while a koto plays softly in the background. The omega knows that foreign diplomats and Japanese business leaders alike have been invited to welcome Yuuri and his husband, who is more importantly known as the Grand Duke of Russia and the Tsar’s younger brother, to Japan. 

Ekaterina takes off at the first opportunity, joining a group of children running around the hall. Yuuri leans into Viktor, longing to sleep as well as Artyom in his stroller. 

“This is not what I expected,” Viktor murmurs, his arm wrapped firmly around Yuuri’s waist. 

“Japan has modernized in the last fifty years.” Yuuri does not mention that Japan had to, that they were forced to by the demands of the Americans in 1853. Change came from the top and spread to the Japanese people, modernization sweeping through. Either they were swallowed by the might of the Western world, or they became a part of it, molding the entire empire from a lackluster block of iron into a willfully sharp steel sword. 

“Japan has its unique spirit, a distinctive touch, that has not lost itself in pursuit of modernization.” 

“Well-said,” says a masculine voice in English. A tall man with long brunette hair and a well-fitted black suit pops into their way, holding out his hand. “Celestino Cialdini. It’s a pleasure to meet both of you, Your Highnesses.” 

“Sounds Italian,” Viktor notes, shaking the other man’s hand. Then he lets go, brushing closer to the omega. “Are you from Italy?”

“No, my grandparents were,” Celestino admits, laughing. He shakes the omega’s hand and pulls away, smiling down at the sleeping baby in the stroller. “They immigrated to America a long time ago. I’m representing the United States to Japan and minding our ambassador.” He gestures towards a blonde man swaying awkwardly with a bottle of sake in his hand, his audience exchanging uncomfortable glances between each other. 

“He doesn’t look like a diplomat,” the omega quietly comments. 

“No, he is an appointee,” the other man confirms. "We never have a boring day with him in charge." He says his words so straight-faced and cheerful that he almost sounds convincing to Yuuri, as if "boring" is a thing to be inherently avoided. 

The omega, however, reads between the lines. The practice of appointing favorites to political positions is nothing new in history, though it seems that the bureaucracy underneath the appointment seems exasperated but not surprised. The Tsar himself enjoys playing favorites by appointing the people he approves over well-qualified candidates, unapologetically placing family in key military positions. It's a rather cheap way of securing and flourishing alliances, a gesture of appreciation and gratitude for support. 

“What is being a diplomat like?” Viktor inquires politely. 

“Not the career I thought I would end in, but something I like,” the diplomat answers, smiling easily. “Now, please excuse me. I must attend to the ambassador.” 

Time moves faster when Viktor passes the omega a few sakazuki full of sake. It’s almost as if Viktor has sensed that Yuuri needs a little help at the party, and, once the omega has loosened up, Yuuri can almost enjoy himself. He even smiles in warmth as he greets some diplomats and ambassadors whose names he will not remember tomorrow. He indulges in the endless line of omegas crowding around the sleeping Artyom, all remarking how alike the baby is to Yuuri. 

Dinner is a mixture of Western customs mixed with traditional Japanese cuisine, giving guests the option of forks in lieu of chopsticks. Everyone sits at identically round tables in handcrafted wooden chairs with handmade cushions. Before they are served with their meal, the Emperor rises to make a small speech. 

Standing at the left of the Empress and the right of Toshiya and Hiroko, Yuuri's grandfather, who looks more weathered and grey since the last time the omega has seen the elder man, speaks in Japanese, "Tonight, we welcome home my grandson, Yuuri, and his beloved husband, Viktor, and their two children, Ekaterina and Artyom." The Emperor surprisingly doesn't butcher the pronunciation of the foreign names. "The Treaty of Portsmouth between our nations ended a bloody war that slew thousands on both sides. We are eternally grateful to the Americans for brokering a resulting and persistent peace, but this is all in the past. It's history. Tonight, though we are a few years tardy, we celebrate the blessed union of Yuuri and Viktor, in which they are the hope of a better future." 

Yuuri manages a small wave when all eyes turn to him, his cheeks reddening. He is relieved when they finally return to the Emperor. 

He finishes with "Ijou desu." There is a light applause, and the Emperor sits down in his seat, signaling for dinner to be served.

"Oh, wow. Your daughter is amazing at chopsticks," praises an European woman, smiling at Ekaterina. She awkwardly snaps her chopsticks together, clearly unused to the utensils. She brushes a strand of black hair behind her ear and turns to Yuuri. "I'm not as good as her." 

The omega cranes his head, tugging his eyes away from Artyom. 

Sitting to the right of her father, Ekaterina easily chews through her dinner, wielding chopsticks as if she's used them for years. 

Yuuri blinks in surprise. Shaking his head, he softly laughs. “You should have seen her a few weeks ago. All she wanted was a fork.” 

With blue eyes so dark that they appear nearly violet, she introduces herself, “I’m Sara.” 

“Princess of Savoy,” Viktor murmurs, leaning towards Yuuri’s ear. Pulling back, he nods politely to the princess. “We’ve briefly met before. In Switzerland, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, several years ago,” she agrees. “I didn’t think you would remember me. My brother spoke positively of you.” 

“Michele, wasn’t it? He preferred Mickey, if I remember correctly.” 

“Correct again. He’s not here today.” The princess half-heartedly shrugs, raising a cup of tea to her lips. “You look well, Viktor.”

“Thank you, and you look as healthy and hale as ever,” the alpha replies. “What brings you to Japan? It’s far from home, far from Italy.” 

"It's sometimes good to be far from home. A vacation of sorts, won't you agree?" A pause as she sets down her pair of chopsticks. "Of course, my reasons aren't so altruistic. I admit that I escaped from Savoy and my brother's presence. He could be quite stifling at times." 

Viktor knowingly nods. "Indeed. Then we shall speak no more of him." 

"Good." Then she swiftly changes the subject to something about a rich European nobleman, who apparently bought a wonderful yacht. 

The conversation is of no interest to the omega, and it's clear that it's only out of social manners that Viktor stays engaged in small talk with the Italian princess. Nevertheless, Sara's presence does spark a light of curiosity in Yuuri. Japan is too random of a place for an Italian princess to visit, which makes Yuuri wonder if she's here for a trade deal with Japan. 

"Perhaps I will visit you in Kiev," she says, mulling over the idea. "It does sound like a beautiful place to visit. If I do, I will send you a telegram." 

The omega quickly slips back into the conversation, smiling and nodding with false happiness at the idea of having the Italian princess visit them in Kiev. He offers himself up as a guide, quietly hoping that she never visits. 

With a surprise tap at the omega's shoulder, Mari cuts in, "Sorry to interrupt, Sara, but I must tell my brother and his husband that I intend to give them both ten crates of sake and a dozen sets of teacups." 

"Mari, that is unnecessary," Yuuri immediately protests. "I don't need twelve teacup sets." 

"They're handcrafted with unique patterns. Flowers, koi, one has an unusual motif," his sister says, smirking at the last part. "But I will not be taking any of my gifts back." She turns her head to the other alpha. "Viktor, I apologize about my surprise visit. I was too eager to see my brother again." 

"I can understand that," Viktor tensely replies, his expression stiff. "Apology accepted." 

Yuuri reaches out, finding the other man's hand. With a reassuring squeeze, he rubs his thumb over the alpha's knuckles. Lightly, he says, "Our grandfather is going to call you up on the stage. They want to take photographs to remember this visit." 

The Emperor does more than that. Viktor, looking handsome in his sable suit, towers over the omega's grandfather in height. They stand next to each other when the Emperor beckons to his assistant to retrieve a medal. 

It's a quiet, former affair when the Emperor bestows the Grand Cordon of the Order of the Chrysanthemum to Yuuri's husband. The medal is given out to esteemed foreigners who are not heads of states, and it's standard procedure for the Emperor to hand out this medal. Yuuri watches another camera flash across their faces, the shiny medal between the two men. He claps politely.

* * *

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Viktor instantly says, wringing a towel out over a ceramic bowl. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Yuura.” He turns and offers the white towel to the omega, who accepts it. “Yes, your heat has come earlier than expected and may have delayed our return home, but do not worry. My work can survive without me for another week or so.” A pause as the alpha pulls off his collared shirt and strips out of his pants. In a soft whisper, he admits, “I don’t want to return home. Not yet anyway.” 

Yuuri smiles weakly, resting the towel on his forehead and covering his eyes. His headache feels slightly better, and the omega feels even better after Viktor crawls into bed to curl around him. 

Still speaking softly as he scents the omega, he asks, "Do you hate the rubber condoms?" 

"We have to use them." 

"No, I'm referring to the texture." 

Yuuri frowns, his eyes shut. He isn't in the mood to think about the feel of the rubber condom buried inside him. Not yet, anyway. "I don't know. I have never tried any other contraceptives." 

"I'm going to order a different type of condom." 

Yuuri, if he wasn't suffering through a headache, might have objected. He knows Viktor still has plenty left, and it is rather wasteful to obtain new condoms when the old ones work perfectly fine. What comes out of his throat instead is a weak moan that sounds like an agreement. 

"Do you need more water?" 

But Yuuri is already asleep.

* * *

Despite his early heat delaying their travels, Viktor and Yuuri return to Kiev in early December. The omega can't help but notice the muted and resigned scent his alpha possesses in Russia. Yuuri knows why. In Japan, Viktor was temporarily freed from responsibilities. In Russia, he must attend to his military duties and prepare for the chance of war against Austria-Hungary and Germany. 

War still doesn't break out, but Yuuri is not deaf to miss the whispers on the street. 

Mila is also caught up in the crisis. Forgetting her tea, she rants, “Russia can't allow the empire of Austria-Hungary gobble up territory from the Ottoman empire. It's not right." 

Yuuri nibbles at the corner of his biscuit. Then he carefully phrases, "But do you believe Russia is ready for a war against the empire and its ally, Germany?" 

The other omega falls back in her chair, her eyes shutting. "No. Absolutely not. Yuri Alekseevich," she says with a sigh. "Perhaps you are right. But it feels wrong from them to take the territory without an answer." 

Yuuri sets down his biscuit on the plate. "Perhaps in time, Russia will give an answer." 

Mila hesitates and then nods in agreement. "Maybe in time. But I don't know if it has learned anything from the last war. Obviously, you weren’t here in Russia at that time, but life wasn’t easy. It was difficult to afford any food with the summer drought in addition to the demands of the war in those years. Money was next to worthless.” 

The omega nods, silently marveling at the fact that she could say all of this to Yuuri’s face without seeing him as Russia’s old Japanese enemy. Of course, she sees Yuuri as an acquaintance and perhaps even as a friend, but it feels good to be seen as that. 

"Hello, Phichit," she pauses awkwardly, as if longing to supplant a patronymic for the Thai man. "How are you doing this morning?" 

"Very good," the assistant answers, drawing up a chair for the French tutor trailing behind him. "I hope you don't mind company." 

Barely noticing the French tutor joining them at the table, Yuuri glances between the two. "You know each other?" 

"I invited her for breakfast while you were in Japan," Phichit admits, sitting down at Yuuri's left and unraveling a napkin to place in his lap. "She is an excellent conversationalist. She has interesting ideas to present and provides a different perspective to problems." 

The red-haired omega blushes. "No, that is all you, Phichit. I can't take all the credit." 

Helping himself to a spoonful of berry jam and bread, Mr. Couture interjects, "No, it is all you. You bring a sort of freshness that His Highness' programs need to better serve the community." He turns to Yuuri and says, "Without her connections, the program would have never been able to be expanded outside of Kiev." 

"That is an exaggeration," she insists. 

"Perhaps, perhaps not," the assistant lightly replies, raising a glass of water for a toast. "But to the program and may it thrive beyond us." 

* * *

The diplomatic crisis continues, and a brief break from its constant pressure is the annual Christmas party in St. Petersburg. With Viktor too busy squabbling against other commanding officers about the lack of importance in military marches and trying to convince them to remove marches from training entirely, the omega has been placed in charge of Christmas presents. It's not a difficult task. Yuuri merely has to gather all the small knickknacks they bought in Japan and then distribute them to each member of the royal family. 

The younger children barely notice the subdued attitude of the adults. Ekaterina, like all the other young children, is lost in the decorated wonder of the banquet hall, the rows of Christmas trees and the smell of food wafting in the air. Artyom, on the other hand, sleeps in Yuuri's arms, not even startled by the occasional shout from Xenia's boisterous children. Standing by his Christmas tree, he sways gently out of habit, keeping an eye on his daughter. He lost Viktor somewhere in the crowd. 

The soft footfalls of a heavyset man draw Yuuri's attention away from Ekaterina. The man is tall, easily towering over the omega. His scent is of sandalwood, mesmerizing in its own way. He sports an impressive dark beard, but he does not dress himself in extravagant clothing. It's subdued and neutral, eye-catching in the sea of fashionable evening wear and expensive dresses. He gives Yuuri a perfunctory bow. "Your Highnesses." 

The omega may have seen his face in a photograph before, but he still asks, "You know who we are, but I don't know you. What is your name?" 

Dark brown eyes peer curiously at the omega but not disrespectfully so. "My name is Grigori Rasputin." 

"Ah, the Russian mystic," Yuuri murmurs. Tilting his head, he inquires, "Do you need something from me?" 

"No, but if you ever feel the need to clear your conscience or need a listening ear, I would be happy to help." 

A small smile rests on the omega's lips, finding amusement in his words. "Mr. Rasputin, I don't live with regrets. Now, excuse me. I must tell Katyusha to stop kicking her cousin. Merry Christmas." 

"Merry Christmas," the holy man echoes. 

Yuuri can feel the man's piercing eyes searing into the back of his dark blue evening dress as he unhurriedly strolls away. He feels as if he needs a wool shawl for there persists a sudden chill in the air. He makes his way to Ekaterina, who clutches at her older cousin with no small amount of dislike on her face. "Katyusha, what are you doing?"

"It's my toy," she insists in English, pointing to her cousin. She scowls at the older boy. 

"It's not yours!" the boy spits back, hiding a tin soldier between his palms. "It was mine first! I let you borrow it, Katya!" 

"Katyusha, not all toys are yours," the omega says, tugging the girl away with a hand. He doesn't recall a red tin soldier among Ekaterina's collection of toys. "Come, Katyusha. When we return to Kiev, we can start our own collection of tin soldiers. An entire army." 

The girl's azure eyes light up, no longer upset by the perceived loss of the toy. "Promise?" 

"I promise," Yuuri confirms, hoping she will forget when they return to Kiev. Readjusting his hand to clasp the girl's fingers, he suggests, "Shall we go find your father?" 

"Okay!" 

They circle around the banquet hall, weaving in between Christmas trees and Viktor's extended family alike. Some of them stop to admire Artyom in Yuuri's arms, all complimenting on his beauty. When the conversation lasts too long, Ekaterina tugs impatiently at Yuuri's hand, eager to find Viktor. 

They manage to find Viktor in the depth of a conversation with the Tsar and their uncle, the General. Partially hidden behind a gathering of decorated trees decked with baubles and wooden toys, they quietly speak amongst themselves, lurking like three shadows. 

Yuuri pulls back on Ekaterina, preventing her from running off. "Let's wait. They're talking about important things right now." 

The girl pouts, but she contains herself. 

"Nicky, we are nowhere near ready," Viktor insists, sounding as if he has repeated this adage several times already. "Russia is not ready. We were fighting a costly war not even three years ago, and we have not returned to peak condition. Ask our uncle. He agrees with me." 

"Maybe we would be fine if it is only the empire of Austria-Hungary we fight against, but we can't forget that it's strongly allied with Germany. We are in a precarious position, and if we can’t bring France to an alliance, then we should not take this fight,” the General concludes. “It would be costly for us and for the Russian people.” 

“The Russian people demand we don’t let the empire take Bosnia without an answer from us,” the Tsar reminds. 

“And Viktor and I say we’re not ready to issue any military answer. Your advisers are correct,” Nikolai Nikolaevich responds. “If you would not listen to us, then at least wait until we see how France weighs in on the annexation before you declare war.” 

"Papa!" And then Ekaterina breaks free, scampering her way to her father's waiting arms. She jumps, her arms wrapped around the alpha's neck. "Where's ice cream?" 

"Katyusha, one moment and I'll get some strawberry ice cream for you," Viktor promised, bestowing a kiss on her temple. He straightens, rising to his full height with Ekaterina squirming in his grip. "But Nicky, think carefully about your choices. Do not hasten." 

The Tsar glances away from Yuuri, his finger scratching at his chin. "I will not be making any decisions on Christmas, but I will keep your words in mind." Then he walks away, hands clasped behind his back. 

It’s only after the Tsar is many earshots away when Nikolai Nikolaevich dares to speak again. Softly but not quietly enough for Yuuri to mishear, he whispers, “I thank you for your support, Vitya. It’s nice to have another sane voice, and I think between Stolypin and us, we can convince him to see the wrongness of war.” 

“It’s no problem.” In a louder voice, he addresses the girl, “Katyusha, shall we go look for ice cream?” 

“Yes,” she agrees. “Ice cream!” 

“Definitely your daughter,” the other man laughs. “She has your horrible sweet tooth.” To the omega, he informs, “Yuri Alekseevich, you would do well to forbid your daughter from mixing tea with jam or else she will drink nothing else but tea with berry jam.” 

“Uncle, I do not solely drink tea with jam,” Viktor instantly protests. “I drink it sometimes.” 

He raises a single eyebrow. “Is that so?” 

Patting Viktor’s shoulder, Yuuri interjects, “Well, Vitya, you could afford to drink less tea and jam.” 

The alpha gasps. In a dramatic tone, he declares, “I’ve been betrayed. By my husband!” 

Pushing back a slight smile, Nikolai Nikolaevich inclines his head. “Vitya, Yuri Alekseevich, it’s getting too late for me now. Good night and have a wonderful Christmas.”

* * *

The Tsar doesn’t force Russia to mobilize for a war against Austria-Hungary in January or February. Eventually, it’s reported in the papers that France and Russia agree to the annexation and will be sending officials to sign an amendment to the Treaty of Berlin in March. 

There is no person in Russia more relieved than Viktor, who celebrates by opening an old bottle of French red wine in his study with Yuuri perching on his desk. Glowing with pleasure, the alpha rallies, "No war for Russia. It's wonderful news. Not a single life has been lost nor a single droplet of blood been needlessly shed." 

"However, this is seen as a loss to Russia. Diplomatically," Yuuri points out. 

The alpha swirls his glass of wine. "Yuura," he thoughtfully pauses, "I sometimes worry about Katyusha. Soon enough, she will be old enough to push a chair against the bookshelf." 

The omega blinks, startled by the sudden change in topic. "She is already climbing bookshelves. She has probably climbed every single one here." 

Viktor holds up his hand. "No, listen to me, Yuura. Carefully." A pause. "She will try to reach for something shiny, something that catches her eye. A trinket perhaps. But to reach for it, she must climb onto the back of the chair, which will teeter under her weight. Once she grabs the trinket, the chair falls onto the side and, with that chair, she collapses onto the floor." 

The omega frowns at that. He can see it happening. Ekaterina is far too agile and eager and unaware of danger. 

"Russia is Katyusha. It can't afford to be reaching for things it can't have, not when it has a weak foundation that can falter at any moment." 


	10. Chapter III

Yuuri is certain he will be pregnant again. 

"I'm so sorry," Viktor whispers, planting apologetic kisses into Yuuri's bare shoulders with his arms wrapped around the omega's stomach. "I'm so sorry about this." 

The new condom they tried ends in horrible failure after Viktor knotted Yuuri and pulled out an hour later to find the condom torn at its tip. Though Viktor tried his best by licking up every droplet of seed out of the omega's hole, Yuuri is quite certain he caught the other man's seed. After all, heats are when omegas are most receptive to pregnancy. Besides, it won't hurt for Artyom to have a younger brother and for Yuuri to have his spare. 

"It's okay," Yuuri says, baring his neck for the alpha to scent. It's all sudden to him, but he murmurs, "It is alright, Vitya." He leans against Viktor for minutes, languishing in the alpha's heat with his eyes shut and mouth open as Viktor's nose runs against the side of his neck, tickling the bite mark. "Vitya?" 

"Mmm?" 

"You don't have to worry about the texture of the condom anymore." 

"What," Viktor flatly states. 

With a knowing smirk, Yuuri slips out of his husband's arms, teasingly raising his bottom as he crawls over the bed to reach for the box of skin condoms on the nightstand. Feeling the searing gaze of his husband on his ass, he pointedly seizes the box and places it into the drawer. He pushes it shut. "See, don't worry about the texture, Vitya." The resulting yelp spilling from the omega's mouth sounds indignant as his alpha seizes him and yanks him back down to their bed. “Vitya, what are you doing?” the omega exclaims. 

Viktor rolls on top of the omega, weighing the younger man down. His azure eyes peer at Yuuri, shining darkly. “You’re playing with fire, Yuura, when you make implications like _that_ and present yourself to me.” 

"Hmm," the omega hums coyly. "Then what are you going to do about it?" 

Viktor's smile is downright devastating as his lips brush down Yuuri's chest and over the soft curves of his stomach, his lips locking around the omega's cock.

* * *

Yuuko is the first to pity Yuuri’s pregnancy. Alone except for Yuuri’s presence and therefore, free of any social restrictions, she allows herself to lie down on the drawing room’s sofa, rearranging the pillow underneath her back. She lets out an exaggerated sigh. In Japanese, she says, “I can’t believe you’re having another child. Nine months of being pregnant for the first time is more than enough for me.” 

The omega sips from his teacup, squinting at the folded newspaper in his other hand. “I hope for a son.” 

A spare.

"A daughter would be just as good." 

"We might end up having a boy and a girl. Maybe more," Yuuri says. "Viktor wants a large family with the children close in age. He only grew up with his younger sister, Olga. It was somewhat lonely for him, because they only had the company of garden statues. Occasionally, their father, too." 

"You are seriously considering giving him what he wants?" 

The omega quirks an eyebrow, setting the cup back onto the coffee table. "He can be quite persuasive at times." 

"Don't fall for it," she advises. "Besides, they're not alone. Not in the way he and his sister had been. Ekaterina and Artyom have my triplets to play with. I am afraid of the trouble they will get themselves into." 

Yuuri nods. With Artyom quite skilled in crawling, though he still prefers napping, it is only a matter of time before the children create a terrible mess, looking for trouble out of curiosity. 

"What are you reading about?" 

"The Sultan of the Ottoman Empire has been overthrown by a unanimous vote from parliament and subsequently replaced by his brother," he informs, flipping the page. 

"Is that important?" 

The omega shrugs. "If it's not, then it's interesting to know about." But the Ottoman Empire is far from the shadows of its glorious height and power, crumbling and wasting away. Viktor believes the same is happening to Russia, and from the poor condition Yuuri has seen of its schools and homes, he is inclined to agree. But if he has anything to say about it, Russia will not wither away in his lifetime. 

"Anything else in the news?" 

"Tornadoes in the United States killed over a hundred people. I do not know why they would live in that area." 

“Tornadoes or not, it’s their home.” 

* * *

“It’s been a while since you’ve visited Kiev,” Yuuri says in Japanese, sipping tea from his cup as he gazes at Morooka in his standard guard uniform. “St. Petersburg was busy, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes.” A pause. “I’m afraid my visit has been catalogued and recorded by your husband’s assistant.” 

“I doubt he will stop you from visiting Kiev,” the omega replies and then hesitates. With bewilderment and the slightest hint of alarm, he adds, “Has my husband suspected you?” 

With an incredulous look in his eye, Morooka shakes his head. “He does not suspect me of my,” the alpha pauses, searching for a satisfactory word, “auxiliary activities.”

“That’s good. I would rather not for you to be caught by the Okhrana.” 

A lone dark thick eyebrow twitches on Morooka’s face, but he nods in slow disbelieving agreement. "Yes, it would be bad for me to get caught. There is something you should know." 

"Oh?" 

"I've been invited to return to Japan, which I've declined. There is also another job offer from the Kenpeitai, where they plan to station me in Manchuria or in Korea." 

"Do you want to go?" 

He shakes his head. "I'm needed here in Russia, but I'm warning that when I decline that offer, the Kenpeitai may try to recruit your guards or perhaps even our diplomats." 

The omega thumbs his chin. He can see how that is a problem, but as long as they don't recruit Morooka or Takeshi, the Russian network he has can recover. He doesn't know if Takeshi is willing to accept a job offer from the Kenpeitai, the Japanese secret police, when Yuuko has her job here as well unless they offer substantial increases in salary. "Is there anything else?" 

"Since the end of the crisis, it has been quieter than usual. I've kept track of the heir, who remains guarded fiercely at all times. The best access I have into the Alexander Palace is an operative working in the kitchen. It's not very close to him at all, but they are close to one of the Grand Duchesses, who apparently enjoys her midnight biscuits." 

Yuuri nods. "Then keep working on obtaining better access. Have you finished checking on my children's French tutor?" 

"Still a work in progress. From the information we gathered about him, we have not been able to locate his extended family yet. If they are still alive." 

“Nice, France does have a large population.” 

“In 1901, they counted over a hundred thousand people,” Morooka confirms. "It will be a while until we find them, but I will send an associate to inform you of anything malicious in his background."

"Good." 

"If you don't have any new assignments to give me, I should leave and return to St. Petersburg as soon as possible." Then the guard stiffens in his seat as the door creaks open. Pasting on a rigid smile, Morooka rises from the couch. Switching to English and twisting his body for a bow, he greets, “Your Highness, it’s a pleasure to see you.” 

"There is no need for that," Viktor says in English, shutting the door behind him as he strolls to sit by the omega. On his face is the exact same mirrored expression as Morooka's, unfailingly polite but insincere. "It has been a very long time since I've last seen you, Morooka." 

"Over a year, yes." Morooka slowly sits back down, still wearing that smile. 

“I didn’t know you were still working as Yuuri’s guard,” he offhandedly mentions, an arm casually slung over Yuuri's shoulder and a hand held steady on the omega’s protruding stomach. “You’re almost like a ghost, Morooka.” 

“I work better that way. I examine the weaknesses and strengths of his guards, and I actually came here today to inform that His Highness should only give at most a day’s notice to the schoolteacher when he decides to visit a classroom."

Lightly, Viktor adds, "Yes, Russia is quite dangerous at times in comparison to Japan, but we all know that we can't stop Yuura from doing whatever he wants." 

"Yes." Morooka sits still, frozen like a pale marble statue displayed by the pond. 

A pause. "Morooka, I would like to invite you for a run tomorrow. After all, it has been a long time since we've last raced each other. I think you're due for a rematch." 

The guard agrees, his molded smile dropping in resignation, "Then I suppose I will have to accept your invitation. I look forward to a rematch of our skills." 

"Good and good luck. You'll need it." 

* * *

"Where's Tyoma?" Yuuri inquires, puzzled by the reappearance of his husband into their bedroom. 

"With Guang Hong," the alpha answers, shutting the door and then shrugging out of his suit jacket. "I thought it would be nice for us to spend a quiet night together." Silver hair falls over his eyes as he lifts his feet to untie the laces of his leather shoes. "Besides, when is the last time I've had quality time with my husband?" 

The answer is last night, but Yuuri doesn't have time to point that out before Viktor pounces on their bed, weighing down upon Yuuri as if he's afraid the omega will escape at the first chance he gets. 

Yuuri doesn't escape from Viktor's grasp without an impressive array of bite marks and bruises on his skin, leaving Yuuri sorry that the late spring weather is still too cold for him to leave them exposed. 

* * *

Their third child comes quickly, but only because Yuuri sleeps through the start of contractions, unaware of the fact that he’s in labor until he wakes up screaming at three in the morning, nearly taking out his husband’s ear. 

“I thought it was a false labor, so I fell asleep. I didn't want to bother anyone,” the omega apologetically says, upon seeing Leo frazzled in his blue cotton pajamas. He pants, his neck straining and his fingers gripped tight around his alpha's pale hand. 

"Well, that baby is coming now," Leo declares. "It doesn't care for anyone's schedule." 

They work around Yuuri seamlessly, having seen it all before with Artyom. This time, Yuri Plisetsky, though pale and ghastly in his face, tries to be of help to anyone who asked. He plays medical assistant for Leo and keeps the area around the bed clear, so the doctor could move unfettered.

"You're doing good, zolotse," Viktor breathes, his words warm against Yuuri's cheek. 

There is only a flicker of orange sunlight from the windows and a burst of a shattering cry when Leo retrieves a bloody bundle and calls Yuuko for fresh towels to clean the newborn. He glances at his watch and announces, "Twenty-five minutes past five. The fifth of December in 1909. A boy, ten fingers and ten toes. Breathing and screaming quite loudly, if I may add." Leo laughs softly, casting away bloodied towels into Yuri's waiting hands. 

"A boy," Viktor happily echoes, as if the omega didn't hear Leo. He helps the newborn into Yuuri's waiting arms. "What is his name?" 

"Anton. Anton Viktorovich," Yuuri answers, awed. He has his spare now, the extra he needs if he ever loses his heir. But more importantly, he has a child, a gift, with the curl of black hair at the top of his head and a nose that resembles Viktor's. Half Yuuri's and half Viktor's. 

"Antosha," Viktor murmurs. "Our son." 

* * *

A young chocolate-brown poodle is brought home and given as a surprise gift to Artyom, which forces Yuuri to whisper into Viktor's ear to ask a question: "Are you going to give each of our children a dog eventually?" 

"Should I?" Viktor's eyes light up, as if he's never heard of a grander idea before. 

Yuuri would love to say yes, but he stays firm and practical, thinking of the fit the palace's staff would throw once they hear of more dogs moving in. The peafowls are already too much for some of them. He compromises, unable to resist smiling, "Maybe when they are older, so they can appreciate and care for them." 

The alpha pouts, but he nods, moving to sit next to the omega on the sofa. "Alright. Maybe we will have another one in a few years." 

"Does she have a name?" 

"Makkachin." 

"What does that mean?" Yuuri asks in surprise. He has never heard of a Russian name like that. 

"I do not know. The breeder's niece named her that." Viktor shrugs, wrapping his arm around Yuuri's waist and practically putting both the omega and their newborn child onto his lap. "He does not know what it meant either, and Makkachin wouldn't respond to anything but Makkachin. It's too late to change her name." 

"Makkachin," the omega tests. "It's a cute name." He leans forward, glancing down to his other son. "Tyoma, say Makkachin." 

"Makka," Ekaterina interjects after a moment of Artyom ignoring Yuuri to lick Vicchan's back, her hands running through the bigger poodle's fur. "We can call her Makka." 

"Very good," Viktor praises, grinning. "Makka for short. Makkachin and Vicchan, the two adorable poodles." A pause. "Katyusha, I'm going to tell you something very important." 

"Yes, Papa?"

"You're a little older now, so you're ready to take Vicchan on walks around the pond. You have to make sure he's on a leash or else he will find himself in a bit of trouble." 

The girl nods, her face etched with determination. "Yes, Papa." 

When Ekaterina returns her attention to the large poodle, Yuuri turns to whisper in Viktor's ear. "Are you certain she is ready for that?" 

"A little bit of responsibility won't hurt her, and she will have help. She'll learn in time. I don't expect her to understand right away. Besides, Vicchan needs to be taken out for walks or else he will get too bored." 

The omega nods in tentative agreement. He's not sure what he thinks about that. He has never owned a dog before Vicchan, and while the toy poodle is rather sweet and cautious around the children, he does worry for Ekaterina's safety. He can easily picture Makkachin, a dog bigger than Ekaterina, getting herself into an accident. 

"Are you certain you want us to go to St. Petersburg for Christmas without you?" Viktor asks, resting his head against Yuuri's shoulder. "I'll be glad to stay home with you and Antosha this year."

"I'm certain," he firmly declares, feeling a dull twist in his stomach. "You should see your family." And Yuuri is grateful that there's not even the slightest hint of resentment in his voice. It may have been an entire year since he has last seen his sister and his parents, but he's long accepted the fact that as an omega in an arranged marriage, it would be exceedingly unlikely for him to see his family ever again. 

Viktor nods, not looking convinced. 

* * *

The morning Viktor is supposed to be packed for St. Petersburg, Yuuri wakes up to find the alpha's side of the bed relatively warm. His eyes immediately draw themselves to the empty crib, the layers of blankets cast aside. Sleep still numbs his mind for it takes him many seconds to register Anton's disappearance. He hurriedly grabs the grey wool shawl slung over the armchair and slips on his shoes. He rushes into the hallway, his head turning as he shoves down a consuming sense of panic. 

"No, I want it at the top!" cries out Ekaterina in English, her words suddenly louder than the distant sound of the Graphophone playing classical music. 

"Shhh," Viktor says, voice traveling from the private dining room. "You're going to wake up everyone. It's only seven in the morning." 

"Sorry, Papa." 

Sneaking a peek around the doorway, Yuuri smiles in relief, finding Anton in the arms of his wet nurse sitting by the window. "Vitya, you're supposed to have left for St. Petersburg by now." 

Silver hair flicking away from his eyes, he turns his head away from the new addition of a Christmas tree in their dining room. "I sent a telegram, saying we will be declining the invitation to the annual Christmas party." 

"But your family is there," Yuuri points out. 

Viktor shakes his head, absentmindedly passing a wooden soldier toy to Ekaterina. With long steps, he easily captures Yuuri's hand and twists them around in a spin, leading the omega to the beat of a waltz. "No, Yuura. My family is here. In Kiev. I'm not going anywhere without them." And with that, he stops in his tracks and steals a kiss from the corner of Yuuri's mouth with a grin, as if pleased with his own cleverness. 

"Papa, what about an apple on the tree?" 

The alpha laughs. "You can't put an apple on the tree. It's going to rot." 

"But it'll look nice." 

"It won't look that nice in two weeks." 

"Are you sure?" 

Yuuri resists laughing. He doesn't even need to look to know there's a disappointed pout on her lips, a feature she inherited from Viktor. 

"In a bit later," the alpha pauses, "I'll go fetch a rotten apple from the kitchen, so we can see how it looks. In the meanwhile, why don't you help decorate the tree, Katyusha?" 

"Okay, Papa." 

Once satisfied that Ekaterina is thoroughly distracted with her task, he turns back to Yuuri, who is still firmly trapped in his clutch. "Now. Where were we?" 

"Christmas," Yuuri hesitates. "Declining the invitation to St. Petersburg's party."

Viktor hums, carefully watching where they step as he leads the omega into a surprise twirl around their dining table as they dance into empty space to avoid crashing into anyone. "No, that wasn't it." 

"Then what is it?" 

"Do you think you have less of a place in my heart than of my siblings?" 

"What?" Yuuri sputters, his cheeks reddening. "No, I don't think that way." 

"Then why do you insist on leaving you behind in Kiev?" The alpha asks, his hand resting on Yuuri's waist as they sway gently. "I wouldn't do that if I have a choice, Yuura. I would put you and the children above everything else. There is nothing else that truly matters in my life." 

And with those words heard, Yuuri can't construct a perfect reply, frozen in his steps as he sways like a leaf in the wind. He's stunned, speechless like a dumbstruck idiot. 

"I know there's a difference in our culture," Viktor continues, his azure eyes affixed to Yuuri's. "Between Japan and Russia. But know that you matter. Know that our children matter. You’re not a second rate family member, not some sort of breeder who is expected to have children and then disappear forever in some dark dusty room. You are my family. And. . .” His cheeks redden as he shifts nervously. “But. . . Do I make you unhappy?" 

"No! Vitya, I am happy here. In Russia. With you." Yuuri is certain his ears are burning. 

How could he ever be unhappy with Viktor? 

"Good. Sometimes, it's difficult to see what's on your mind." Viktor swallows, releasing the omega's waist. "I have a confession then." 

He holds his breath, waiting in anticipation of the other man's next words. 

Softly, he admits, "This is something that I should have said to you years ago without shying away, but I’ll repeat it to you again. I know the circumstances of our marriage aren't the same as anyone else's in the world, and it wasn't always easy for both of us at first, but I'm grateful. I'm blessed to have you in my life." 

A tear unwillingly slips from Yuuri's eye, and he nods. "You put together my thoughts and feelings into words better than I ever could." 

"I'm glad." Viktor's smile is blinding as he thumbs away the warm tear. "Happy early Christmas." 

* * *

Viktor's words roll around like weighted stones in Yuuri's head for days. For the first time in years, he revisits his memories and asks himself questions he has never considered before. Why does Viktor sound as if he's inadequate, as if he has failed Yuuri in their marriage? Has Yuuri been so _expressionless_ as to suggest to his alpha that he's unhappy? 

These thoughts probe him from time to time as they set up preparations for a small Christmas party in Kiev. He can’t even focus on the problems the new Minister of Education who took up the position in September, Lev Kasso, is throwing at Yuuri’s program and Kiev’s schools. 

Yuuri has always known that a mating between an alpha and omega brings a mating bite and children. In Japan, an alpha always provides for their omega or omegas. But this is Russia, where not even female alphas are treated the same as their male counterparts and the customs are different. Is there something _more_ he needs to bring to the table? Is there something he's missing? 

He approaches the person he can always count on. Pushing the open door even wider, Yuuri smiles and steps into Phichit's study room. "Hey, Phichit, are you busy?" 

Sitting at his desk, the assistant twirls a fountain pen between his fingers. "I'm only trying to come up with some details for the party. What is going on?" 

"Well," Yuuri says, seating himself in the polished chair across Phichit's desk. "There's the party." 

"It will be fine. We only have a hundred and fifty people and their families. Most of them are accepting their invitations, and I hope to have the final number of guests two days before the party starts." 

Over a hundred and fifty people, the thought of it nearly makes Yuuri faint into Phichit's stack of accounting books and tablecloth samples. The party is far bigger than he originally thought, and it nearly rivals the number of guests for the celebration of Artyom's birth, though this party does not have to be as extravagant or decadent. 

Phichit squints, tilting his head. "It's not about the party." 

"No." 

"Then what is it? What bothers you?" 

"Am I a terrible husband?" 

The assistant stops twirling his pen. "You do realize that I have never been in a relationship before? I'm not the person who can give you marriage advice. You know fully well that Mother always sends me letters saying that there will be a day I will fall deep in love with someone and never look back, but I always write to her that her idea is not possible for me. I'm quite happy where I am. My babies are all I need." He sighs dramatically, setting down his pen. 

"I don't think your hamsters are babies anymore." Yuuri thinks they're all at least two years old. 

"They will always be babies to me," Phichit declares, reaching into his lap to reveal one sleepy hamster in his palms. "But if you're looking for marriage advice, you need to ask someone who is actually married. I suggest Yuuko."

* * *

The second Yuuri finds the other omega, he knows Phichit must have warned her of his visit. Instead of working at her desk to review paperwork or overlook the budget, she sits on the sofa with two teacups lying in wait on the coffee table. 

"Phichit called?" 

"Marriage advice," she confirms. "Trouble?" 

"I don't know how to explain it." 

"Sit down and start at the beginning," she says, reaching for the teapot to pour them both tea. "I'm listening." 

The omega slowly steps around the coffee table, sitting next to her and placing his chin into his palm as he bends forward in thought. He listens to Yuuko sipping tea before finally admitting, "I think I might be a terrible husband." 

Her hand stills mid-pour. Then she sets down the pot and pushes a plate of sweets towards the other omega. "Eat some chocolate. They're from France." 

Yuuri obliges, grabbing the smallest piece he can find. Placing it on his tongue, he sucks at the bitter tang of chocolate. "It's quite strong. Dark.” 

Yuuko smiles, taking a large piece for herself. “It’s the only type the triplets wouldn’t eat. If they did, I would have no chocolate at all. They enjoy sweet things.” 

The omega laughs. Ekaterina herself is developing a taste for sweets, though she knows better than to eat an entire box of confectionery. She prefers English biscuits and freshly baked cookies. He takes his time to sip tea, knowing that Yuuko would wait for as long as she has to in order for the omega to gather his words together. "Am I a bad husband?" 

"Did Viktor say you were?" 

"No. But. . ." Yuuri sets down his cup and curls his fingers, digging his nails into his palm. "Is there something more I should be doing for him?" A pause. "He wondered a few days ago if I was happy here." 

The maid frowns at that. "Odd. Anyone can tell that you are happy in Kiev." She raises her cup to her lips, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe there is a disconnect between the two of you? Maybe you both aren't on the same page?" 

Feeling warm with no small amount of shame, Yuuri musters, "I don't know. I guess we haven't been. But I've always thought we have worked well with each other." 

"Maybe you should spend more time alone together, so you can talk," Yuuko suggests. "There is also the possibility that it could be the Russian and Japanese divide." 

Yuuri is taken aback. Sharply, he questions, "Why do you mean by that?" 

"Russians do things differently than us," the maid points out. "They cook differently, they dress differently, they believe in one god rather than several, and I still don't understand why this man is called the son yet he is also the father? But maybe Russians do marriage differently." 

He sits back in though. "Huh." 

* * *

Georgi accepts the invitation for tea in the afternoon on Saturday. Though he still occasionally substitutes a few classes, he is the principal of Pushkin Elementary and subjects himself to receive St. Petersburg news about Lev Kasso. "The previous one appears to be a reasonable figure of authority in comparison," he declares. "No self-respecting professor or schoolteacher would align themselves with that man." 

"Yes, I heard about his reach into the universities." The new Minister of Education has wasted no time in flexing his power in an attempt to control curricula across the empire. "If you need any help, please reach out to me or Phichit." 

The principal nods in appreciation. "That would be most wonderful. This awful man, he dares to nose around in business that is not his. I hope he is replaced soon, but until then, we must suffer like everyone else." Georgi nibbles carefully at a biscuit. "You should visit the schools again soon. The students like it whenever you visit." 

"I'll consider visiting sometime after Christmas," Yuuri agrees, nervously tapping his finger on the armchair. He withdraws his hand and inquires, "I must ask you a private question." 

"Yes? What is it?" 

"I come from Japan, and I'm afraid something may have been lost in translation between my husband and I." The omega glances away, his cheeks flushing as he suddenly wishes he did not open his mouth to ask Georgi this question. But he knows Georgi has been in a relationship and Mila hasn't, and he would rather not ask anyone else. He knows no one else to ask. "Besides martial duties, is there something I should do for my husband?" 

The other man pauses at that, his face tinged with the slightest hint of pink. He coughs, covering his mouth with an arm. "I don't know if I'm the best person to give you advice on this. Surely you have someone better to ask." 

"But you are the one who may know of any Russian marriage customs I don't know." 

"Ah." Georgi nods seriously. "I only had a few relationships before, and I am actually courting a wonderful schoolteacher. She's new. Only been at her job for two years now." At the partially alarmed look on Yuuri's face, he adds, "No, she does not work for me. She works at a school in the rural areas. Her name is Dariya." 

"How long have you been courting her?" 

"Only two months. We're taking it slow." 

Hesitating, Yuuri says, "Congratulations." 

"Thank you." Georgi glances away, his ears red. "I will help you with advice. I won't do anything more than that." 

"Advice is all I'm looking for," the omega assures. He nervously hedges, his fingers pausing in their taps, "I don't know if I'm doing anything wrong, but I'm afraid Vitya thinks I'm unhappy in our marriage." 

"Are you?" 

"No, absolutely not. I'm happy." A pause. "But I'm concerned. Do I look unhappy?" 

Georgi shrugs. "Not to me, but you do look troubled about this, that he said this." 

"Yes, I am." In a rush, Yuuri blurts out, "Am I doing something wrong? Am I missing something?" 

"You probably need to talk with your husband more often. Alone." The other man steals a quick sip from his teacup. "Do you know how Anya and I fell apart?" 

At the sudden change in topic, Yuuri blinks. "Uh, no." 

"She wanted something completely different. I didn't know at the time, but she was falling out of love with me. Perhaps if I had slowed down and paid more attention, I would have noticed. But the fault doesn't completely lie in me. A relationship has two people." He flicks out two raised fingers for emphasis. "I was blind to her needs, but she was mute and kept her thoughts to herself. I didn't know she wasn't feeling what I felt for months, and if she had told me. . ." Georgi shrugs, his words gone. 

"So you are saying I should tell Vitya that I'm happy in our marriage?" 

"I wouldn't put it like that." He shakes his head, grimacing. "You sound like one of the Tsar's official decrees. You want to tell him what he knows. You want to remind him of your love." 

"Love?" 

"Yes. Just tell him that you love him." 

"Tell him I love him," Yuuri slowly but dutifully repeats in shock. 

"Yes." With a kopek-sized widening of his eyes, he gasps. "Have you never told him that you love him?" 

"Is that normal? For people in marriage to say that?" Yuuri's mind spins at this new revelation. Is this what he should have been doing all along? 

And. Love? 

"Very. I told Anya that every day, but little did I know that she was not feeling the same," Georgi mumbles, sighing. "But yes, we used to exchange that every day. I haven't done the same for Dariya yet, because our relationship is still new." 

Yuuri's eyes refocus on the other man. "How soon are you supposed to say it?" The omega knows that he himself has never said it to Viktor. Is this everyday knowledge? Does everyone but Yuuri know this? Has he spent the last few years of his marriage being a naive idiot? 

Georgi frowns. "There's no rule when it comes to courting and a relationship. It comes when it feels right. It's not a checklist. It's a constant work in progress." A pause. "Just spend more time with him. It can't hurt."

* * *

The largest ballroom has been modified and decorated to Phichit's specifications, a series of round tables surrounding a rectangular area for dancing in front of an installed dais and a grand Christmas tree. The assistant has stayed an exact rouble under budget, gleefully smug about that single rouble. Though the party has officially started with the palace's staff and their families relaxed and mingling around the refreshment tables, Phichit can't help but run around to arrange things to perfection. 

Upon watching Phichit frantically pass by for a third time, Yuuri quickly seizes his arm. "Phichit, relax. It's a party. Enjoy yourself." 

"But the mistletoe," the assistant protests, gesturing towards a random direction. Then at the raised eyebrow of the omega, he relents, sagging. "Fine. I'll open a few bottles of wine. Photograph some people. And relax." In a softer voice, he mutters under his breath, "Or try to." 

"Good." Yuuri smiles and releases him. Then he turns back to accept words of gratitude from the staff for throwing a Christmas party. He prefers when the children thank him. At least they look and sound as awkward as Yuuri feels. Yuuri doesn't know how his hand hasn't fallen off from all the handshaking. 

"It's good that you told him that," Yuuko says in Japanese, her hair adorned with a sprig of white Christmas rose. "He needs to rest or else he will fall asleep where he stands." She smiles prettily, handling out numbered cards for the lottery as guests arrive. Then she suddenly frowns at another direction, gazing towards the sound of a childish shriek. 

The omega quickly turns, finding the triplets and Ekaterina trying to crawl over Mr. Couture’s back. He shakes his head in exasperation and then turns back to the guests. He nods, shaking the hand of the head chef and then his wife's. "Thank you for coming. I love how he makes pelmeni." 

"I do too," the wife replies, patting her rotund stomach for emphasis with a carefree laugh. "Thank you, Your Highness, for inviting us." 

"It's my pleasure," he easily replies. 

That being said, Yuuri is all too relieved when most of the guests have arrived and he is free to join his husband at the table by the dais. At this spot, almost everyone can see them, but he does not mind at all, his attention easily taken by Viktor. 

"Have I mentioned this before, Yuura? You look ravishing, zolotse," Viktor murmurs, cradling Anton in his arms. His eyes shine brightly blue. 

“Yes, you have. No less than five times all night,” Yuuri answers. 

“Still not enough,” loftily declares the alpha. He nods towards the dais. "You wish to speak?" 

The omega quickly shakes his head, eagerly downing a glass of refreshing water. "No, I think I've spoken with everyone here already. My throat is a bit tired." 

"Then I will speak for you. Hold Antosha for me, please." Like a clever thief stealing jewels from a guarded vault, he pecks a kiss at Yuuri's cheek once the baby is in the omega's arms, leaving a warm spot on Yuuri's skin. "Thank you." With that and a fork and a glass in hand, he stands up and walks on the dais with ease. 

Yuuri turns his head, never looking away from Viktor even as he gently hums to his babe. His breath catches when the light hits the side of his austere face just perfectly and the alpha begins to speak, the entire ballroom silencing itself to hear him. Yuuri listens to his husband simply improvising, his voice loud and audible, as he thanks the palace's staff and the chefs for helping to set up the party and then lavishes no shortage of praise for Yuuri, who is credited for putting the whole party together. 

Phichit leans in, whispering in Japanese. "If anyone asked, it is completely all you, Yuuri. That is what I've been telling everyone." 

"But Phichit," the omega protests. 

"I would never dare let people know how terrible your event planning is for as long as I draw breath," the assistant dramatically declares, watching Viktor close his speech to applause. In a louder voice, he switches to English and asks, planting his elbow on the table, "So are you going to tell him?" 

"Phichit," Yuuri warningly says. 

"Christmas is a good time. There's a mistletoe hanging over the exit to the gardens, and I'm more than ready to take Anton to the wet nurse." 

"Phichit." He sighs, gazing away from the sight of Viktor accepting well-wishes from their guests. "I'm not ready yet. I haven't figured it out." 

The assistant exhales. "He will be old and wrinkled and bald like a raisin at this pace." 

A hand suddenly clasps on Yuuri's shoulder. Viktor, sounding puzzled, inquires, "Who will be old, wrinkled, and bald?" 

"No one," Yuuri quickly answers, afraid his husband will find out the topic is the man himself. "I enjoyed what you said." 

"As long as I didn't offend anyone, I do count that as a good speech," the alpha muses. He cranes his head and notes, "Oh, they're serving now. Katyusha, Tyoma! Come to the table!" 

Tearing her eyes away from Mr. Couture’s card trick, Ekaterina shouts, "One minute, Papa!" 

Dinner is not as fancy or as extravagant as it would be if the Tsar himself was in attendance. A total of four courses are to be served by temporary staff all dressed in white formal suits. A plate of zakuski is set out in the center of the round table. Pirozhki, pickled vegetables, and zalivnoye are laid out in a decorative pattern to appeal to aesthetics. It almost looks too good to be ruined. 

"Thank you," Yuuri graciously says in Russian to the server. Rocking the sleeping Anton in his arms, he turns to the table and asks, "Could someone help me fetch the stroller?" The omega gestures to the stroller residing behind the dais. 

"I can do it," replies Viktor, lifting Artyom into his high chair. "One moment, zolotse." 

"No, Your Highness, I will do it," insists Mila, removing the napkin from her lap. She quickly retrieves the stroller, pushing it. "Where do you want it?" 

Yuuri scoots his chair closer to Viktor. "On my right. Thank you, that's great." He gently places the babe into the stroller, rearranging Anton's blankets. 

"He's so adorable," Mila coos, leaning towards the stroller. "Going to grow up to be a heartbreaker." 

A sudden hand taps at Yuuri's shoulder. "The gatekeeper has stopped someone claiming to be Mr. Kasso from entering," Yuuko says in Japanese, looking rather worried. "Typically, I would not entertain someone who hasn't been invited to the party except Kai says he does look like the man in Phichit's desecrated photographs of Mr. Kasso." 

The omega barely keeps his face from reacting out of disgust. "Did he say he wanted anything?" 

"Only your audience. He did not say how long." 

Yuuri nods, leaning forward to steal a piece of pickled vegetable off Viktor's plate. "I suppose I better see what he wants. He is a long way from St. Petersburg." Switching to English, he says, "Vitya, I have to attend to a problem." 

"Is there something wrong?" 

He shakes his head, pasting on a reassuring smile. "Only an uninvited guest. I'll tell you later." 

Viktor nods, relenting after a moment. "Alright, but if they're unwelcomed, have the gatekeeper throw them out."

Yuuri thinks Phichit might actually give up a year's worth of salary to see Mr. Kasso, the current Minister of Education, being thrown into a pile of snow. Chewing on the pickle, the omega makes his way to the gate, Yuuko walking briskly behind him. 

"Don't walk to the gate," she says, grabbing ahold of the omega's arm before he can open the double doors. "I will call them to bring him inside. You're underdressed for the weather outside." 

Yuuri nods, glancing downwards at his dress. His wool cloak is in his bedroom, and it would be a chore to fetch more clothes. He stands still and waits until the doors blow open, the chilly wind eagerly rushing in with two guards standing behind a dark-haired man in a thick black winter coat and fur hat. 

"Your Highness, I presume," the man says, performing a minimal movement that almost passes as a bow. "I apologize for interrupting your party." 

In Russian, Yuuri politely replies, "I would appreciate it if you could make this short. My children need my attention." 

"You fund the local universities." 

"I do." The omega squints, wondering where the other man is taking the subject to. "What about it?" 

"I'm hoping you would rescind your impressive donation," the Minister answers, clasping his hands behind his back. A fluff of snow melts on his mustache. "These are public schools that receive money from the government for many years without an issue." 

Without an issue? Yuuri thinks the destitute conditions of the classroom is already enough of an issue. The omega has seen the photographs. He smiles at the other man, tucking his own hands behind his back. "With the condition of education it currently resides in, I believe schools need all the funding they can get. I will not be stopping my donations." 

The man is not quick enough to hide his disappointment. "I see." Surprisingly, he adds, "And what does your husband think about that?" 

"He approves," Yuuri replies without missing a beat. 

"The programs you and your husband run," the man pauses, "seem to require more money than he reportedly has." 

He can't stop from feeling the sudden heat in his cheeks. Affecting a chilly facade, he softly speaks, "Mr. Kasso, if all you have left to say are baseless accusations, then you might as well leave. The exit is right behind you." The omega doesn't wait to watch the man go, pivoting to return to the ballroom. He knows exactly what the Minister of Education is planning. He sees Yuuri's donations as a threat, because when he decides to withhold funding from Kiev's universities, the universities will be less likely to entertain his requests, happy enough to sit on donations while the professors create a bonfire on campus to burn Mr. Kasso's decrees. 

The omega keeps Mr. Kasso in the back of his head. The man is only trouble, and he dislikes anyone who tries to interfere with his programs. He affixes a smile onto his lips as soon he steps into the ballroom. He easily exchanges words with Georgi and Dariya, Kiev's city officials, and socialites alike through dinner, and as soon as the servers put away the dishes, he climbs up to the dais to begin handing out random gifts through a lottery. It feels like hours before it is a reasonable time to put the children to bed, handling off Anton to his wet nurse and tucking the other two in. Thankfully, they do with little protest. 

"We don't have to go back in right away," Viktor says, cutting into Yuuri's thoughts and passing a sly smile. "It would be nice to have some time alone." He offers his arm to the omega. 

Accepting it, he agrees, "Yes, it would be." 

They venture the opposite direction of the ballroom, turning a corner with no particular direction. 

"How was the uninvited guest?" 

"His presence was most unwelcomed," Yuuri answers, unable to stop his grimace. "The Minister of Education has thoughtfully come to Kiev just to complain in person about our donations."

"Ah, Mr. Kasso," says Viktor, sharing an identical expression on his face. "I've heard of him. It's agreed by anyone who has discussed him that he is quite unlikable." 

"How did he even become the Minister of Education?" Yuuri wonders. 

"My brother appointed him." 

The omega doesn't apply any further comment. 

"Stop," Viktor suddenly orders, his steps pausing as he lifts his head. 

"What is it?" 

"Mistletoe." With a pale hand, he reaches to the top of the doorway and plucks a single white berry from the plant. He slips it into his pocket and steps in front of the omega. He leans down, his face inches away from Yuuri and azure eyes gleaming mischievously. 

A sudden spark dances in the omega's stomach, and without thinking, he seizes Viktor's sable tie and pulls him down to capture his mouth in a searing, demanding kiss, their tongues clashing. When Yuuri reluctantly pulls away and releases his husband's tie, he finds Viktor a bit starry-eyed, as if the man has been struck in the head. 

He touches his lips. "Amazing," he breathes. 

"Vitya," he whispers, unable to look away from his husband. "There's something I have to tell you." 

"Yes?" 

"Well," Yuuri stalls, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks as insidious thoughts begin to whisper. In a breath, he blurts out, "Vitya, I love you. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner. The words don't exist in Japanese. Actually, they do, but no one ever says it." 

Viktor shushes, a finger at the omega's lips. "It's okay. I know. I've always known. You don't have to say it." 

"But I heard that it is nice to hear what you've always known." His breath dances against his alpha's finger. 

"It is," the other man confirms. 

"Then I will say it more often," Yuuri promises. 

His azure eyes sparkle. In a low baritone voice, he whispers, "And I love you, zolotse. More than you know." 

Yuuri's heart skips a beat. This, though it makes his head spin dizzily with something tasting like happiness, feels like the start of something new, something achingly beautiful. A strange sort of deepening in their connection, electric and warm at its core. 

* * *

After gaining permission to enter the drawing room, Yuuko silently shuts the door behind her. Sitting down on the sofa, she speaks in Japanese, stoic and firm, "I'm sorry to inform you that I've seen something troubling." 

Yuuri lifts his head from the journal he was poring over. "Yuuko, what are you talking about?" 

"I saw Mr. Couture entering your husband's study last night. At twenty minutes past three. He was in there for exactly forty-seven minutes. I don't believe he has taken nor left anything." A pause. "I also don't believe he saw me there. I've reported this to Morooka." 

"You were still awake at three?" 

Yuuko nods, rubbing her eyes. "Two of the girls are sick. They threw up. I don't know how many times Mr. Couture has broken into the study before, but it did not appear as if last night was his first time." 

"That is troubling," Yuuri remarks, wondering if Viktor has ever noticed his study being disturbed. It is likely that the alpha would have blamed it on the palace's maids or their children. "I expect Morooka will be overturning every stone to be found?" 

"Yes. He has assured me that he will be investigating him personally."

* * *

It takes three weeks for Morooka to personally come to Kiev, temporarily taking over Takeshi's driving and loitering right outside of an elementary school. With his hands on the steering wheel, he informs in Japanese, "I'm sorry that I couldn't meet you in the palace. There is a troubling increase in the numbers of the Tsar's secret police in Kiev." 

Keeping the alarm out of his voice, he asks, "Do you know why?" 

"No." A pause. "The change started around January. I'm not certain what they're looking for, but you should know that there's a secret police officer permanently stationed outside of the palace. They're believed to be tracking everyone who goes in and out." 

"January. That was over eleven months ago," Yuuri mutters. Then he recalls the brief conversation he had with Mr. Kasso and wonders if the man has something to do with the secret police. "What did you find about Mr. Couture?" 

"We couldn't find any trace of his parents or even his birth record," Morooka grimly informs. "We resorted to tracking his letters, which are traced to a contact in Moscow. That contact, a Miss Petrova, takes his letters and repackages them for the Austria-Hungary Embassy in Bulgaria." 

"Are you saying he's a spy?" The omega feels the beginning of a headache arising at his temple. Mr. Couture has been employed for years, and the information he learned from Viktor's office is insurmountable. 

"It is an absolute certainty. Or at least, he is an informant. I have my associates attempting to intercept a letter." 

Yuuri nods. "Good work." 

* * *

It is not easy to come up with a reason to fire Mr. Couture. He is an excellent French tutor, who has no issue guiding and teaching any of the children despite his initial fears. Yuuri wishes he didn’t have to terminate Mr. Couture, but he would rather not explain to his husband how he knows the tutor is a spy and needs to be removed from the palace. It takes months for Yuuko and his guards to screen for suitable replacements, and in the meantime, the conversation has turned to the subject of King Edward VII passing away and George V ascending the British throne. In Yuuri's opinion, he does not know how England is able to differentiate the many kings named Edward. 

It is after careful consideration and thorough investigations that Lilia Baranovskaya has been selected. She is the wife of a representative in the Duma, a man named Yakov Feltsman, but she has been separated from him out of mutual agreement due to personal differences. She is a tall, imposing woman with a penchant for bright colors, though her personality perfectly complements the cold nature of Russia. Fluent in French, German, and English, she stands out amongst the other candidates. 

The day after Mr. Couture has left his employment, Ms. Baranovskaya wastes no time in setting down boundaries for the children, clearly unafraid of Yuuko and Yuuri's presence in the palace's classroom. Ekaterina and the triplets are deathly quiet. 

"I've been entrusted by His Imperial Highness to teach all of you to not just know the facts and truths of reality but also to critically examine them. My greatest wish for the four of you is to leave your own mark upon this world. But my utmost hope is that by the time you leave my care, you will develop courage, a thorough compass of morality, a sense of responsibility, a good character, and most importantly, inner strength." At the identical confused looks from the four-year-old girls, Ms. Baranovskaya smiles kindly. "But I don't expect you all to understand this today. Instead, I will be speaking in French to examine your understanding of the language." 

* * *

It's during their evening walk together with Ekaterina and Artyom running ahead when Viktor asks of Ms. Baranovskaya's skill in teaching. He adds, "I did hear she is quite good with the children today." 

"Yes," Yuuri agrees, his arm locked with Viktor's. "She is different from Mr. Couture. I think it might be a good change. She has a way of making them listen to her, and I think she is more than ready to teach Tyoma as well." 

"It is a pity that Mr. Couture left." 

"Yes," the omega agrees, hoping Viktor leaves it as that. Though the children's education is mainly managed by Yuuri, Viktor has a say in the choice of governess they made. 

"I was thinking of a vacation." 

"Oh?" He tracks Artyom gleefully chasing a peafowl around the pond. "Japan would be nice," he suggests, picturing his homeland and Ice Castle. It has been two years since they've been there. 

"We should bring Antosha to Japan, to Hasetsu," the alpha agrees. "But I'm thinking of a short vacation. Maybe only for a week. That's more than enough time for us to spend your heat together in the summer." 

"And the children?" Though they share their heats and ruts together, they do have enough time and clarity in between the hazy fever to venture out of their bedroom for a brief dinner with the children. 

"They stay behind in Kiev." Recognizing the unconvinced expression on the omega's face, he adds, "Mama will be coming to watch them. She would love to see them all." A pause, and then he whispers, "It would be nice to have some time alone."

* * *

Leo thoroughly washes his hands with soap, nodding to an inaudible beat. "Yes, there is an alternative choice in contraception. It is recommended that a medical doctor assists with the device, but I believe that with enough training, you could install it without needing my assistance." He holds up a dome-shaped object made out of rubber. “This is called a cervical cap. Unlike a condom, this cap goes inside of you. It’s easier to manage, and you’re not as likely to forget it in the heat of the moment.” 

Yuuri sits on the cot, soaking in his alpha’s warmth as he wears only his undergarments. “Is it safe?” 

“It does need to stay inside you for at least six hours after the last ejaculation to protect the seed from catching. You must remember to remove it. It’s best that both of you know that a cervical cap is in use to reduce chances of forgetfulness.” 

With no small amount of suspicion, Viktor asks, “Why does a medical doctor need to assist with a cervical cap?” 

“First, it’s to make sure it fits properly. Second of all, with the current state of contraception laws in America, I think it’s a way to instill fear of self-harm to discourage individuals from using it to prevent pregnancy.” At the curious look on Yuuri’s face, Leo clarifies, “It’s a method to control certain people.” 

“Oh.” 

The doctor nods. "Now. Shall we begin?"

* * *

It takes a lot of time to prepare for a short getaway. Yuuri trusts Phichit and Guang Hong to carefully watch Anton, who is quite adept at running and falling at eighteen months. Though the children are being watched by Tyotya Maria, Ms. Baranovskaya, Yuuko, Guang Hong, Leo, Phichit, Yuri, and the guards, Yuuri can't help the tiny niggling worry at the back of his head. 

"It will be fine," reassures Viktor, squeezing Yuuri's hand as the train departs from the station. "Mama has seen it all." 

"I know," Yuuri murmurs. He knows that they both could use a short vacation. After all, the children, Viktor's career as a military officer, and Yuuri's programs are time-consuming. But the omega feels unsettled by the shift in routine, finding it unusual to look around and not see Ekaterina playing with the triplets and Artyom clambering after them to keep up with the girls and Anton crawling only a few steps away from Vicchan. 

"Zolotse, sleep," Viktor says, pulling down a secured cot. "We should rest while we can." 

* * *

Catherine Palace in Tsarskoye Selo is a sprawling architectural wonder of its own kind. It is a summer home to past and future Tsars with sprawling acres composed of a park with carved marble statues and curated trees. But for Yuuri, who has seen the Winter Palace, briefly lived in the Alexander Palace with the Tsar's family and during Christmas, stayed for a night in the Anichkov Palace, honeymooned at the Petrovsky Palace, and observed the opening of the Duma in the Tauride Palace, the Catherine Palace is merely another extravagant lavish structure in the long line of Russian palaces. It will probably be a true novelty if he ever stays somewhere that is not a palace. 

As he steps out of the automobile and onto the courtyard, he wonders if the children are alright without them in the Mariyinsky Palace. Anton is eighteen months old, and he feels a stab of guilt at leaving them all behind in Kiev, despite knowing that the children are in capable hands. It is the first time he has ever been away from them for a long period of time. Ms. Baranovskaya and Mr. Couture's whole day lessons are the longest he has been away from them. But eight hours do not compare to a whole week. 

"They will be alright," Viktor promises. "If there is any trouble they can't handle, they will send a telegram." 

The omega nods, though he quickly remembers Ekaterina and the triplets finding a tin of red paint and gleefully mashing their hands against the walls. He follows his husband's lead into the palace. 

"Empress Catherine sought to have every comfort she ever needed during her heats," Viktor says, leading the omega deeper into the bowels of the palace and giving no mind to the lavish gold-plated walls of the hallway and excess decorations. A pause in his steps as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a brass key to unlock a thick oak door. "Mama forbade us from playing here when we were younger, and for many years, she held the only key to this place. Until now." 

The very second the door opens, Yuuri knows that Tyotya Maria isn’t the only one who held the key. It’s too clean, the sunlight dancing across the gleaming pale tile floors with not even a visible speck of dust. The private drawing room is spacious with several cabinets lining up against the wall. What draws Yuuri's eyes the most is another door leading to a near-dark room. 

The omega steps in, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. There is a square-shaped bed set into the floor, only a few inches taller than the ground itself. Thick curtains draped over the windows block sunlight, ensuring a small space for an omega and their partner to nest. "We don't have a nesting room in Kiev," he remarks in surprise. In fact, Yuuri hasn't nested in a long time, preferring to be wrapped securely like a filling in a bun. 

"Would you like one?" 

"I don't know," the omega says, staring at the space in the floor. There's something that tastes like want lodged in his throat. "It does look amazing."

"You can have one." Back in the drawing room, Viktor opens another door. "Oh. You should look at this." 

Yuuri slips out of the nesting room. He ducks his head into the room, finding a large empty bath in the very center of the spacious room. It is large enough to throw a party in, but he has a feeling that Empress Catherine used it just for her and her paramours in her time. The amount of detail of mermaids, octopuses, and various sea life in the colorful blue-green tiles is staggering. 

"Hmm. I wonder why Mama had forbidden my siblings and me from entering this place," the alpha muses, wandering over to another door. He peers in for a moment and shrugs. "A library." 

"Maybe she doesn't want anyone to ruin any of Catherine's possessions?" Yuuri suggests, peeking into the library. It's grand with cozy furniture by a fireplace and decked with dozens of bookshelves with dizzying heights. "Tyoma ripped pages out of books for his own amusement." 

"Nicky did that too, but she didn't ban any of us from the library." Viktor tries another door. "Interesting," he says, leaving it at that. 

"Why interesting?" Yuuri approaches the room, his head peeking in. His mouth drops at the impressive array of phallus-shaped objects neatly placed behind glass in the cabinets. There must be hundreds in this very room. His personal opinion of Empress Catherine has risen greatly. "That is the largest collection of dildos I have ever seen." 

"Wait, you know what they are?" 

"I did live as a beta for many years, and it's not that uncommon in Japan if you know where to look," the omega replies, walking deeper into the room. "She had very unusual art." He points to a demonic marble sculpture of a forked tongue licking a phallus. It's not the strangest sculpture in this curious room. 

"Have you," Viktor pauses, nervously running his hand through his silver hair. "Have you ever used one before?" 

The omega tears his eyes away from a sculpture of strange oversized goat-man moments away from penetrating a young small Ancient Greek maiden. He stares at his husband, keeping his expression still. "I know how to use one." Yuuri thinks he can pinpoint the exact moment Viktor's wit disappears. 

"Oh," he says, stunned. It takes a minute for him to recover. "You do know they also sell them in Russia. If you know where to look." Though his words sound casual in nature, there belies a hint of eagerness. 

"Vitya," Yuuri pauses, his voice teasingly soft, "this room is filled with them." With that, he holds his chin up high and moves towards the exit. He stops in the middle of the doorway, finding his husband frozen like a statue. "Vitya, if you can find one that has never been used before, I can assure you that I can demonstrate my skill." He winks.


	11. Chapter IV

Yuuri thinks creating plans for the installation of a Turkish bath and a nesting room will be the first order he will issue as soon as he returns to Kiev. The hot steam, the wonderful way it seems to penetrate him to the very core of his body and warms him to the center of his bones, deeply reminds him of the hot springs in Hasetsu. The only difference is that while sex in the hot springs is banned, there is no such rule here. They take full advantage of the absolute privacy the baths provide. 

Though the omega sits on the cusp of his heat, he finds the fever alleviated by sitting on his alpha's lap in the bath with his face feeling wonderfully warm. Everything is warm, and he would like nothing better than to stay in the water, Viktor's length buried inside of him even while soft. 

"Yuura, my skin is turning into a raisin. I'm turning into an old, wrinkled, hairless raisin." There’s a fond huff, as if it’s not difficult to give in to the omega. 

"One more minute," the omega mumbles, his nose buried in the crook of Viktor's neck. "Just one more minute. It’s so nice here.” The water splashes out of the bath, methodically dripping down into the drain. 

“Mmm.”

It ends up being fifteen more minutes, and Viktor has thankfully not complained about the state of his pruney skin as he rolls the condom off. After drying himself, Yuuri towels the water out of Viktor's hair. He squeaks in surprise when Viktor easily lifts him, his legs dangling over the curve of the alpha's arms. "Vitya!" He laughs, grabbing the alpha's shoulder for balance. "Where are we going?" 

"Library." 

"Vitya!" Yuuri exclaims in joyous panic. But to his relief, the alpha carries him into the private library just the next door over and lays him down on a soft dark fur pelt in front of the fireplace. "Vitya, what about my clothes?" The omega blinks, his eyes innocently wide. 

Stark naked, the alpha throws a log into the flames to cast away the chilly breeze, using an iron to adjust it. He sets it away with a clang and turns back to the omega. "Somewhere in the nesting room." He stares down at Yuuri, his watchful eyes wonderfully warm against Yuuri's skin, the pressure like a sweltering blanket. He leers, hiding none of the smug satisfaction in his expression. "I don't think we'll need them." 

Yuuri daringly arches, flexing himself leisurely over the pelt. He compromises, biting his lips with eyelashes fluttering, "Then at least some blankets. Don't forget the cap." 

"Of course, zolotse." He reaches for the neat stack of cotton blankets on the sofa, dropping the pile next to Yuuri. "You want to use the nesting room later?" 

"I don't know," he answers, frowning. He then shakes his head, making his decision. "I don't like how it doesn't include a fireplace. It seems like an oversight. It doesn't feel warm enough." He watches Viktor nod at that and then stroll away. The omega's eyes are locked upon his alpha's pale bottom. With a sigh of disappointment at Viktor walking out the door, he sits up and begins unfolding the blankets to create his nest. He pushes the coffee table away for room and flattens the pelt, once the fur of a large brown-black bear. 

Viktor returns with the box containing the cervical cap and an unopened box of rubber condoms. He sets them on top of the coffee table and asks, "Need more blankets, Yuura?" 

"Yes. Many more." It is not that he needs more to make the nest, but he knows from experience that they will need fresh, clean blankets for their own convenience. He would rather not have fluids soaking into their nest for hours. 

"I'll have them send for some more," Viktor agrees, wandering over to the telephone on the reference desk. He jabbers with the staff for a few minutes in Russian, asking for blankets, towels, fresh fruits, dinner, and an update on his assistant's errand. Viktor seems dismayed at the answer regarding Boris. It seems the assistant has yet to complete his task. "Thank you." He puts down the receiver. "The blankets will be here soon, and dinner will be in an hour." Viktor sits in the armchair, watching Yuuri tie the nest together. He makes no mention of the assistant to Yuuri. 

Amused, he casually inquires, "I assume we don't need attire for dinner?" 

"Not at all," Viktor instantly replies, his smugness returning. 

Dinner arrives in thirty-three minutes with a knock on their door and Viktor sets up all the food and dishes on the coffee table, Yuuri feeling like a pampered princess of the fairy tales Ekaterina enjoys listening to at bedtime. Viktor prevents him from lifting a single finger to even help pour the tea. 

It is almost ridiculous, but a swooping feeling in his stomach makes the omega giddy. 

With Yuuri sitting on a towel laid over the edge of the nest, he props his elbow up as he slowly licks the fish sauce off his fingers and moans. With the demand of heat rapidly approaching, his body simply wants and absorbs the sight of any food. Catfish has never tasted so delicious, and he almost misses the uncomfortable shift in his husband's posture. 

"Another piece?"

"Yes, please. Thank you, Vitya." With his fingers, he eagerly shoves a square piece of white fish into his mouth, his tongue capturing the stray drops dribbling down his lips. The amazing sweet and sour combination explodes on his taste buds, and he can't help but close his eyes as he is mesmerized by every spark of the flavor. 

The alpha shifts again, reaching for his glass of white wine and downing it all. 

Yuuri squints. "Are you alright, Vitya?" 

“Very alright,” Viktor assures, pouring himself some more wine. He gulps it down. “I’m only parched.” 

The omega squints harder. “I don’t think wine hydrates you.” He straightens and hobbles on his knees to his alpha’s side. He reaches for the glass pitcher of water and pours it into Viktor’s wine glass. “Now try.” 

The alpha skeptically guzzles the water down. 

"Better?" Yuuri waits expectantly. 

"No." A pause. "It's not water that I need." Viktor sets the wine glass on the table. 

Yuuri easily clasps the thin glass between his fingers and tosses it back, finishing off the last bit of cool water. A single droplet slides down the corner of his mouth, rolling down his chin and landing on his bare chest. With lidded eyes, he gazes at his alpha, a near smile playing on his lips. 

His husband notices. "You little minx," Viktor accuses, his eyes bright blue. 

"I'm not hungry anymore," announces Yuuri, returning the glass to its place on the table. "At least, not for food." He sharply gasps in surprise the moment Viktor pounces.

* * *

With his hole aching and dripping with slick, Yuuri desperately longs to touch his alpha's cock in their nest, but he stops himself as he patiently waits for Viktor to roll the condom on himself. Rolling over a blanket, Yuuri buries his face into the alpha's hip, breathing in the other man's familiar citrusy scent. His lips part, and his fingers wrap around the alpha's impressive girth. His tongue tastes the bland rubber condom, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth. Yuuri mourns the lack of Viktor's seed painting his lips like an obscene form of lipstick, but he would rather have his husband buried deep inside him, fulfilling that need rising within him. 

"Oh, zolotse," Viktor says, his voice as soft as the brush of a goose feather. "Take whatever you want." 

"Then lay back, Vitya." Yuuri eagerly sits up and straddles his alpha's thighs, slick messily dripping onto Viktor. Pressing the alpha's cock flat against the other man's stomach, the omega rests his sopping hole against the pulsing shaft. Slick easily paves the way, helping Yuuri roll his hips as he slightly slides back and forth while finding Viktor's hand to clasp. He ignores the increasingly desperate need to have Viktor inside him right now. 

But Yuuri knows from experience that the greater the wait, the greater the satisfaction when Viktor is buried and locked inside the omega. For both of them. 

"Yuura, please," his husband gasps, his eyes unable to look away from the omega. 

"Shh, Vitya," he murmurs. "I'm taking what I need." 

A whimper strangles itself in Viktor's throat. 

Another deep roll of his hips sends the strumming pressure into a crescendo, and Yuuri can't help but moan, his hole rubbing against the line of Viktor's cock slowly to draw out the pleasure. 

"Yuura," Viktor gasps, his cheeks red in the throes of lust, "if you don't do something, I'll. . ." His voice fades away the moment his cock impales itself into Yuuri's hole. "Blyad," he curses. His eyes drink in the omega, and his hands find their way to Yuuri's curves. 

He arches his back, bouncing on Viktor's cock. Feeling decisively brave, his fingers crawl up his side and he pinches his nipple until a drop of milk beads out. He yelps in surprise when the alpha suddenly rolls them over until Yuuri is on his back with his hands in Viktor's hair as the alpha licks away the pale droplet. "Vitya!" Yuuri cries, tightening his legs around the alpha. 

"Taste so sweet," Viktor murmurs, kissing at the nub. "Like you." He thrusts into Yuuri, the pace agonizingly slow as he drinks his fill of Yuuri and lavishes his full attention onto the sensitive nipple. Without missing a beat, he pulls back, his mouth wet with milk. "Vkusno," he growls. 

Yuuri convulses around his alpha's length, his cheeks a fiery shade of red. "Vitya," he mumbles incoherently, arching as the alpha's lips suck the other swollen nub. All thoughts fly out of the omega's head, having no choice but to writhe under the alpha's ministrations. "More," he gasps, "harder." 

"As you wish, zolotse." True to his words, he quickens his pace and pounds harder into Yuuri, sweat beading at his temples. "You're so tight around me, Yuura," he rasps. 

The omega shakes as he comes, a scream lost in his throat. He bares his throat to his alpha, moaning shamelessly as Viktor pulls out of his cunt and peppers kisses against his throat. He throws his arms around the other man, laying back as he shuts his eyes for the moment, the hunger inside him temporarily sated. 

A sudden drop of something heavy and a rapid series of curses in Russian snaps them both out of their shared trance. It comes from the drawing room, merely a wall standing between the couple and the intruder. 

"It's Borya," Viktor mutters, scenting the omega and soothing his nerves. "He was supposed to drop the packages off." Almost as if an afterthought, he pointedly adds, "Quietly." 

From the lack of sounds and the discrete closing of a door, Viktor's assistant does successfully sneak out without destroying or dropping anything. It is a good thing. The omega would hate for interruptions. 

Clarity quickly returns to Yuuri's mind. "Packages? What's in them?" 

"I'll show you tomorrow." With that, he rolls himself off Yuuri and strips the condom off. He retrieves a fresh stack of blankets and unravels them all, covering the omega. "You should know that I asked for someone to send us a daily telegram from Kiev. About the children." 

Yuuri nearly kicks himself. "I can't believe I didn't think of that!" Pleased by Viktor's thoughtfulness and preparations, he then asks, "Maybe they should send at least two a day. One from noon and another at night." 

"Maybe." Viktor pulls on a grey housecoat. "I will go and fetch it." 

Firmly wrapping himself in layers of blankets and purring happily in his nest, Yuuri watches Viktor do more than that. 

The alpha carries all the dirty plates of their dinner outside and brings in rose-colored boxes, piling them neatly on the coffee table. Then he ventures out and returns with a single envelope, his bare feet climbing into their nest. He pulls out the telegram and inquires, "Shall I read it?" 

"Please do." 

Viktor switches to Russian. "'Success put all children in bed. P.C. read a British novel. Anton fussy but later fine. No trouble. Yuuko.'" A pause. "Her Russian is getting better." 

"Phichit has been helping her a lot. She sometimes argues with a local merchant. She believes some of their clothes are too expensive." 

The alpha hums in thought. Plopping besides Yuuri, he murmurs, "Shall I read you something?" 

Yuuri squints, turning his head towards the rows of bookshelves against the wall. "We are in a library," he pointedly notes. 

With a small smile playing on his lips, Viktor pushes himself up and grabs a random selection of books, setting them upon the coffee table. He rearranges a lamp and then strips out of the housecoat, climbing underneath the blankets. He is wonderfully warm. 

Like a moth to a burning candle, Yuuri can't help but throw his leg over the other man, instantly seeking the alpha's heat. He sighs, his breath dancing across Viktor's cheek. "Read something for me, Vitya?" 

"Let me sit up. I'll read for you, zolotse." He shifts around, smiling down at Yuuri after grabbing the first book on the pile. He flips it open, attention turning to the first page. His fingers skip through the book, and Viktor, instead of reading, has an odd twitching expression on his face. Without another word, he closes the book, sets it on the floor, and reaches for the next on the pile. 

"What is it?" Yuuri inquires. That series of actions seems quite odd to the omega. Did Viktor accidentally open a book of names and not a story? A dictionary? A reference book? 

Viktor does the same to the next book, his expression turning to one of ghostly pale surprise. He sets it on top of the first and fetches a third, opening the thin book to the middle. Nodding to himself in resignation, he shuts it and turns to the omega. "Ah, how should I say it?" 

Concerned, he sits up and leans over the alpha for the fourth book in the stack. Without his spectacles, it takes a few moments for him to guess the book's title.  _ A Man and a Wolf.  _ It is written in Russian, and Yuuri wonders aloud, "Is this about how humanity has befriended wild animals?" He flips a few more pages and finds the first paragraph. "Vitya, hand my spectacles over." 

Viktor hesitates, as if longing to protest. But he wordlessly offers the spectacles to the omega. "It is. . ." His voice trails off, his fingers valiantly try to verbalize what the alpha can't say. 

Yuuri adjusts the spectacles over his nose. Clearing his throat, he begins to read aloud in Russian, "'A young doe-eyed omega with spilling blonde hair and moon-kissed skin, Ivan knew these woods better than he knew himself.'" The omega powers through some heavy exposition and immerses himself into the story. Ivan, though he was once part of a village and made a living as a woodcutter, willingly left the home he always knew for the depths of the woods. He was lonely and longed for something more. 

But one night, it all changed. A blue moon arrived, glowing bright yellow in the night. Ivan ran out of firewood and willingly left his humble abode to gather supplies. 

Yuuri pauses mid-sentence, his eyes reading ahead. Blushing fiercely, he shuts the book in surprise and gasps scandalously, tugging off his spectacles, "He was deflowered by a wolf? An actual wolf?" He tosses the book out of the nest with more force than necessary, setting the spectacles on the coffee table and burying himself under the blankets. 

"I'm sorry," murmurs Viktor. "I. . ." A pause. "I didn't know how to say it," he finishes lamely. 

"Vitya. Do you think every book in here is like that? All about sex? Perverse sex?" 

"I don't think four books about sex is a coincidence. Some of them even have pictures." Switching the light off, Viktor lifts the blankets and slides next to Yuuri. He wraps his arms around the omega, his breath dashing over Yuuri's bare shoulder. 

It is complete darkness as he lies in Viktor's arms. He softly asks, curiosity getting better of him, "What were the other books about?" 

"Zeus and Leda. In his swan form. I don't know how that is even physically possible," he answers after a moment. The others come easier. "Plato and Aristotle. Helen of Troy and Aphrodite's revenge. It appeared to have involved Helen of Troy, a large company of soldiers, and some nymphs. There were many pictures involved." 

"Interesting," Yuuri simply comments. 

"I agree. I now understand why Mama had forbidden us from entering these rooms." Viktor shudders. 

* * *

Yuuri's heats and Viktor's ruts have synchronized after Ekaterina's birth and lessened in strength and length with each progressive pregnancy. It is always expected for the omega to fall into heat first, typically lasting three days. Viktor's rut tends to emerge on the second day, granting a second wind for the alpha. For their convenience, the cervical cap will not be inserted until the second day of Yuuri's heat. It saves Viktor the trouble of wearing condoms, and it allows Yuuri to feel hot seed dripping out of his aching hole once more. 

Nevertheless, it is difficult to be patient. In the throes of heat, Yuuri shamelessly babbles, riding harder on the alpha's cock, "Vitya, give me all your babies." 

"Zolotse," Viktor murmurs, his azure eyes blown wide, "you can have all I can give." 

Something about those words sends Yuuri into a heightened state of fervor, squeezing hard around the alpha's cock, as if wanting to never let him go. His nails scratch down Viktor's bicep, leaving another series of marks and bruises. He is close, and a hard thrust is enough for him to silently scream and collapse onto the alpha. 

The alpha's promise holds true. He stuffs the omega with his knot and shields the omega with his arms, fingers digging through the younger man's dark hair. 

Yuuri shuts his eyes in relief, the wave temporarily receding. He nuzzles the alpha's throat, his fingers reaching up to push silver locks of hair out of Viktor's eyes. There is a peaceful calm in the omega's mind, a sort of tranquil state of thoughtlessness. His hole is stretched wide around Viktor's knot, and if he could stay here forever, stuffed full of Viktor, he would be a happy man indeed. 

It is all too soon when the knot shrinks and Viktor pulls himself out of Yuuri. A startling whine emerges from Yuuri’s throat and pierces the air, sharper than the scream of a dying rabbit. 

"Yuura," Viktor whispers, glancing over at the clock. "You must eat. You shouldn't skip lunch." 

The omega hums, sitting up and easily stripping off the condom without a word. His pink tongue stretches out for the shiny droplet of seed on Viktor’s cock when Viktor's hand gently pushes his face away. He whines in disappointment at the clear denial. 

"Real food," Viktor corrects. 

Yuuri lifts his head, so the other man can see his unamused expression writ upon his face. 

Once upon a time, the alpha would have let him have his cock whenever he demanded it, even if it drained Viktor completely dry for the rest of his heat. Nowadays, they both know from much experience that Yuuri, if given his way, would eagerly suck him dry and whine hours later about Viktor's flagging erection. Instead of listening to his husband, he sits up and presses a few kisses against the omega's cheek. "A little bit of food, zolotse. Then I will do whatever you want." He flushes slightly, ducking his head in reddening embarrassment. "You know I need a small break." 

Yuuri rolls off of Viktor and hawkishly watches the alpha pull on a housecoat to retrieve a tablecloth-covered cart from the drawing room. He plants an elbow on the coffee table, feeling his stomach grumble at the smell of hot miso soup and pork dipped in soy sauce. The food is kept warm, and Yuuri is hungry enough to forgo a fork and spoon to dip his finger in the sauce for a taste and to drink soup straight from the bowl. Before he even knows it, the plates are empty in front of him. He holds his hands out for his husband to wipe off the traces of food with a wet towelette. "Are you eating, Vitya?" 

Viktor gestures to a plate of shrimp and his own unfinished bowl of rice. "I'm only a little slower than you, zolotse. But I do have something for you." An arm dips underneath the coffee table and pulls out a purple-pink box with a white ribbon hazardously tied around the lid. It is rectangular. 

When the omega weighs it in his hand, he furrows his eyebrows in bewilderment. He easily yanks the ribbon free, and he suspects it's Viktor's work. There is no one else who can make a ribbon tie look truly awful, as if it has fought a losing battle against Viktor's thumbs. With a curl of his finger, he pops the lid open and stares down at a blown clear glass dildo. He lifts the toy into his palm and casts the box aside. The glass is smooth and chill to the touch, and with a side glance at Viktor, he pauses and asks, "Did you wash this?" 

"Of course, zolotse," he confirms, his plate barely touched. 

"Go eat your food," Yuuri orders petulantly, slowly laying back down in his nest. On his back, he presses his lips against the shaft of the cool glass, his eyes fluttering close as he trails over the ridges. It is an impressive piece of glasswork, but it is not as good as Viktor's cock. Still, he takes his time to warm it, the glass turning to a pleasant temperature. He turns it, his tongue running against the shaft to find the head. He is delighted to discover a little slit at the top, his mouth parting to take the dildo in, drool wetting the glass. 

There is a single clattering sound of an utensil from his husband. 

The omega cranes his head, opening his eyes. His gaze locked upon his husband's, he slides the dildo in deeper, his lips stretched obscenely around its girth. A flash of disappointment dashes through his heart for the alpha who is still eating his meal somehow, not yet responding to Yuuri. A steely determination settles in Yuuri, and with renewed commitment, he moans around the dildo, imagining Viktor's cock filling his mouth. He thrusts the toy in and out, sinking it deeper down his throat until his dark brown eyes water with effort. 

The alpha sits still, frozen but captivated. Then he quickly shoves food into his mouth, eagerly hurrying to finish his meal. 

Excitement quickens through Yuuri, and he pulls the dildo out of his mouth. Hiding a smile as he rolls over, he lies on his back, his free hand lazily stroking his cock. Then he moves downwards, his legs parting and bending aside to present his husband an unobstructed view of his cunt. He peers at his husband, blinking behind eyelashes. 

The alpha desperately downs a glassful of red wine. 

Canting his hips teasingly, Yuuri plays with his folds and rubs the dildo against his cunt. He throws his head back, twisting his body as he slips the toy inside with a hand pinching at his sensitive nipple. It is not as thick or long as his husband's cock, but with Viktor's eyes unable to look away, it feels almost as good as having the alpha's cock deep inside him. He rocks against nothing but the toy, his needy breaths and the slide of the dildo the only sounds hanging in the air. With little patience, he quickens his movements until he's arching desperately and pulling the toy out, slick obscenely splattering on the nest and even spilling on the coffee table. The omega's cheeks flush hard, and he tears his eyes away from the shell-shocked alpha, stuck in mid-chew. The toy rolls into the blankets, forgotten. 

"Oh, Yuura." 

The said omega shields his eyes with his palms, his face perhaps permanently scarlet as he rolls onto his side. He has never seen nor done anything like that before. 

Shuffling closer, Viktor presses a kiss against the omega's temple. "You made a small mess." 

"I have. . ." He shakes his head, swallowing. "I have never. . ." 

"Zolotse, it was wonderful. Absolutely beautiful," the alpha praises. He uncovers Yuuri's hands from his face, his eyes glimmering with delight. "Let me clean this up." 

Yuuri shakily nods. 

Without wasting another second, Viktor rolls the omega over and parts his legs. His neck bent, he begins at the inner thighs, licking away the droplets of slick stuck to the skin. He explores the omega's curves with his fingers, and with silver hair falling loose, he sucks the corner of Yuuri's puffy folds, capturing the slick with his tongue. He pushes his tongue through the omega's hole, lapping up the slick with enthusiasm. 

The omega squirms, a whine drawing out as Viktor pulls away. 

When Viktor rolls on a rubber condom and shoves his cock home into Yuuri, the omega nearly sobs in relief. The new gift of a glass dildo pales in comparison. Only Viktor could satisfy him, fill him with his cock and knot and pin him down better than a nail against the floorboards. He convulses around Viktor's knot, his hand tugging desperately through the alpha's silver hair. 

Clarity slowly returns to Yuuri. 

It is many minutes before the knot goes down and Viktor pulls himself free. He retrieves a towelette and gently wipes Yuuri down, tucking a blanket over the purring omega. 

With his eyes quite heavy and hole throbbing pleasantly, Yuuri stays awake long enough to watch Viktor put away the empty dishes and slip on a housecoat to run some brief errands. He hums happily when Viktor finally returns, stripping the layer and ducking underneath the blankets. 

The alpha clears his throat, ripping open a telegram. Holding the paper to the light, he reads aloud in Russian, "'Ekaterina studying French. Artyom slept in. Good class with Miss B. Anton tries mashed potatoes. Very happy. Yuuko." He opens the second telegram and informs, "That one was from morning. This one is from an hour ago. It says, 'Artyom too tired. Went to sleep early. Anton wants mashed potatoes for dinner. Ekaterina wants to write a telegram. Still awake. Yuuko.’” 

“I would like to receive a telegram from Katyusha,” Yuuri murmurs. 

"Me too." He sets the telegrams on the coffee table and settles into the nest. 

"It is a little odd to not be reading a story aloud before bedtime," the omega remarks, listening to the steady thump of his husband's heart and the crackling of the fireplace. 

"Are you certain you want me to read something to you?" 

"Maybe something tame," he hedges. 

Viktor, clearly uncertain of the chances of finding a tame book in his ancestor's library, returns with at least twenty books, taking a few trips to clear the nearest bookshelf. He starts with one, angling the book towards the light of the lamp. He shuts it after four seconds, creating a new pile of books outside the nest. A second book is dismissed and so is a third and a fourth. The fifth book finds Viktor's eyebrows disappearing into his hairline, and the sixth book merely has the alpha pale and speechless. 

"Are they all," Yuuri paused, racking his brain for a suitable word, "peculiar in taste?" 

"Too peculiar and rather odd." Viktor flips through a few more and finally finds a book tame enough for them both. It is thin, and the title on the spine is written in English, boosting the ill-fated affections of some British count. "It is eighty-eight pages long. There is nothing unusual as far as I can tell, but it is nothing I would read to the children." 

Yuuri huffs in mirth. "Then read it to me."

"Alright," Viktor agrees, finding the first paragraph. With Yuuri's head in his lap, he says, "'Love, as Shakespeare and other poets have discovered repeatedly throughout the history of man, could be true, but the most dire circumstances could shatter the truest and purest of love. Count Philip of Bloomfield was a proud handsome Englishman posing as a Frenchman in Paris and turned many admiring heads wherever he went. Serving in His Majesty's Government, he walked across the busy roads and kept his gaze firmly ahead, deftly avoiding horse-drawn carriages with all the finesse of a nimble pussycat. He knew he couldn't stray from his clandestine work, and he held this truth close and hidden in his heart. To his French neighbors and his many servants, he was a wonderful, vibrant, wealthy man who had little to do in life and flit from one interest to another.'" 

The story prattles on about the count's attributes, energetically comparing his height to a horse and his meticulously combed powdered wig to a long-winded analogy about a chiseled marble statue sculpted by the likes of Michelangelo, a true master artist. 

Yuuri can't help but bark out a laugh at the description. At the pause in Viktor's voice, he interrupts, still stifling his snickers, "I forgot about the existence of powdered wigs. I can't believe people wore them." 

"Yuura," the alpha draws out, pouting at this comment. "I may need a wig one day." 

"Vitya, your hair is perfect and will always be in my eyes," Yuuri instantly reassures. The soft smile on his husband's face warms the omega's stomach.

Eyes glimmering, Viktor continues with the story.

It must be at least ten pages before the author reveals the count is an omega in limitless floral language. It is the next chapter when he meets an ethereal alpha French commander named Pierre, immediately catching his eye and interest. With Pierre spiriting away the omega in a lavish carriage, they are quick to tumble into bed together. 

"Ah." 

"What is it?" Yuuri questions. 

"The chapter is earmarked. By some reader before us." Then the alpha resumes reading, diving into a rather heated sex scene between the two. 

Despite the excessive use of the floral language, Yuuri can feel himself growing wet. Instead of picturing the French man with long blonde hair underneath his powdered wig, he sees Viktor, imagining the alpha throwing him over a table to mount him. The fever of his heat roars in Yuuri's ears, and without even thinking, the omega seizes the book and tosses it over the coffee table. It lands with a resounding thump on the floor. 

"Yuura, I'm going to lose the—” 

Yuuri silences the alpha with kisses. Viktor doesn’t need to worry about anything. Viktor  _ shouldn’t _ be worried about anything except for the deep ache arising in the omega’s core, molten and electric. He straddles the alpha's lap, his hand reaching down to slide his arousal against the alpha's. "Vitya," Yuuri moans, "please." 

"Of course, zolotse," he murmurs. "Condom first." 

The omega pouts at that, but he doesn't offer a word in protest as the alpha slips protection on. He nuzzles the alpha's neck and murmurs, "Vitya, put me over the table. So you can," he pauses, gasping at the sudden insert of his alpha's finger into his cunt, "knot me." 

"Tomorrow," Viktor promises, withdrawing his slick-stained fingers from the omega's puffy hole and sliding his cock in. "I want you right now, Yuura." 

The omega can't possibly argue against that.

* * *

The second day of Yuuri's heat arrives with little fanfare, sunlight streaming in through the windows. Though Viktor's scent clings strongly to the omega, the alpha is merely on the brink of his rut. In preparation, Viktor has helped the omega insert the cervical cap. Yuuri wishes it would arrive immediately as he shamelessly presses his cheek against his husband's flaccid cock. Yuuri frowns and says, as if he could scold it into an erection, "Vitya." 

"I am only an old man, who pales in comparison to your divine stamina," the alpha replies, his lips quite swollen. "Give me five minutes, zolotse." 

Yuuri crawls up and lays his head against Viktor's chest, listening to the rapid thumps of his husband's heart. Throwing a leg over the other man, he presses his cock to Viktor's hipbone and mindlessly seeks bits of his own pleasure. "Vitya," he cries desperately. 

Viktor offers his fingers, his azure eyes locked upon the omega. He never looks away, not even once, as Yuuri clenches around three fingers and temporarily satisfies the demanding wave of his heat. 

It is not enough. He wants Viktor's cock and the resulting knot. He wants it buried inside him so deep that the alpha's seed will be dripping out of him and Yuuri will be limping for days. 

"There is something we can try," Viktor whispers, pressing a kiss on Yuuri's lips. "Would you close your eyes for me?" 

Yuuri eagerly nods, and he does. He feels the other man pulling away, and he listens carefully, hearing him rearranging the boxes underneath the coffee table. He shivers, though not from chill, when the alpha returns to his side. He allows Viktor to turn him onto his back and follows the alpha's silent commands, spreading his legs apart to present his aching, dripping cunt. Then he is suddenly arching in surprise at the sudden sensation vibrating next to his folds. Quite worried, he exclaims, "Vitya, what is that?" 

The alpha shushes him. "Relax, zolotse." Something in Viktor’s direction makes a strange motor-like noise, a sound the omega has never heard before. 

But Yuuri trusts his husband, and he relaxes slightly, quivering against the round, vibrating device. His hands squeeze the sheets, and soon enough, he can't help but press himself harder against the device, seeking more of the unique sensation. A long, aching orgasm is wrung out of him, and he pulls back, gasping and finally daring to open his eyes. 

The alpha switches it off. 

Once his wits have returned to him, he asks, panting, "What is that?" 

Viktor raises the strange contraption to his face, peering at the machinery. "They call it a vibrator. What do you think of it, zolotse?" 

"I don't know. I think we need to try it again," Yuuri manages.

They try it two more times. The third time finds the omega in control of the vibrator, discovering the best way to service his heat. 

In a moment of clarity, Yuuri whispers into the alpha's ear, "We should connect the room next to our bedroom." They lay together, their limbs tangled like threads in a sheet. 

"Why?"

"So we can create and store our own collection of toys."

Viktor pouts. He asks, a touch of teasing in his voice, "Will the collection replace me?" 

"No," Yuuri answers immediately. He strokes his husband's bare cock, squeezing it experimentally as it hardens in interest. "No, the imaginary collection can't even compare to you." And Yuuri drinks in the pleased, pink blush on the alpha's face. Vibrating with something that tastes like happiness, he climbs on top of Viktor, his hand guiding the other man's cock into his hole. 

Viktor has already penetrated the omega several times earlier today, some before and after breakfast. But the novelty of entering the omega bare hasn't washed off yet. Though the box promises neither parties would notice the condom's presence, they both have. 

"I love the cap," Viktor murmurs, so softly that the omega wonders if it's only a figment of his imagination. 

Yuuri sinks down until the other man is buried to the hilt, clenching instinctively. He can feel the other man throbbing where they meet, as if there's a heart beating between the two. Generous amounts of slick leak onto the alpha's thighs, and almost lazily, the omega begins to move, his muscles unhurried. He breathes in the other man's citrusy scent, noticing it thickening. 

It's his only warning before Viktor growls and rolls him onto the omega's back, weighing him down as the alpha seizes full control of the pace. With skin slapping against skin, he mercilessly drives himself into the omega's cunt, his words barely audible. "Mine," he breathes, the word nearly sounding like a prayer. 

"Yours," the omega instantly replies, agreeing. He bares his neck for the other man, and he instinctively clenches around Viktor's cock, milking all the seed he can give, as the alpha's mouth plants on the bite mark and renews it. Yuuri's lips part in a silent scream as the knot pops inside. His hole stretches around the growing knot, hot seed filling the omega so well.

* * *

Viktor's rut brings a renewed energy in the alpha, a grand second wind to help his limbs lift Yuuri against an empty section of the wall to impale the omega. He noses the crook of the other man's neck, his thrusts frenzied. 

The omega can't even spare a care at the shaking portraits or to embarrassment that someone may hear. Only held by Viktor's arms and the press of his body, he clutches his alpha for dear life itself, his hole quite ruined by the alpha yet forced to receive even more of Viktor's seed. Yuuri's cock barely leaks, running dry thanks to the alpha himself. Viktor has spent much time ruthlessly drawing orgasm after orgasm until there's nothing left to give to Viktor's mouth. 

Pinned to the wall, Yuuri shivers and clenches around the alpha’s knot. Their movements still as seed pumps into the omega’s cunt, and Yuuri relaxes his chin on Viktor’s shoulder, his limbs collapsing like a rag doll. The world seems to turn fuzzy when Viktor returns them to their nest, still locked together, and rearranges the blankets to cover them both. Yuuri shuts his eyes, his head resting against the wall of the nest. His hand, or perhaps Viktor’s, is the first to interlock. 

With their hands clasped together, Viktor possessively runs a finger over Yuuri’s golden ring.

* * *

The second night, or perhaps the third day's morning of Yuuri's heat, discovers the pair curled up in the corner of their nest and well-wrapped in layers of blankets. Having more concentration and a better attention span between the two of them, the omega reads aloud the book, resuming where they left off. He stumbles through the scene of intense passion and muddles through a random insertion of a battle scene between France and England, neither of the main characters to be seen or even mentioned anywhere. There has not been a single date specified by the author, so Yuuri can't rack his knowledge to pinpoint the exact war.

But it doesn't matter. They find each other again at a grand ball thrown by the French nobles, who couldn't care any less about the war, and once the Commander has fallen asleep in his bed, Philip begins stealing French military secrets from the alpha's desk, memorizing important details such as battle formations and army supplies. He is careful to reveal selective information to his strict but dutiful superior, so cautious to not lead a trail to the Commander and thus, himself. 

Yuuri lifts his chin, allowing the alpha to press kisses against the base of his neck, still reading. Then he stops, the book shutting in his hands. “Vitya?”

“Mmm?” the other man hums. 

“Are you listening?” 

“Da,” he confirms. 

In disbelief, Yuuri pulls his head back, taking a long, serious look at his husband who blinks innocently. “Then Vitya, let me ask you one question. What was the last thing I read?” 

“Something about a table.” It is an incredibly informative answer. 

“You weren’t paying attention," the omega smartly concludes. 

“No,” Viktor agrees instantly. Shutting his eyes, he grabs the book out of the omega’s hands and tosses it out of their nest. “I absolutely  _ was not _ paying attention at all,” he huskily says, rolling them both over. He arches a perfect eyebrow, as if daring Yuuri to do something about this particular lack of attention. 

When Viktor’s cock sheaths itself into the omega's cunt, Yuuri can't bring himself to care about anything but his husband. 

* * *

“We forgot about Katyusha’s telegram. Has it arrived?” 

“Oh,” Viktor gasps, pushing up from the nest. He throws a leg over the nest’s circular wall and pulls on his grey housecoat. “Let me go check to see if they left the telegrams in the drawing room.” 

In the meanwhile, Yuuri wrinkles his nose at the dirty blankets and tugs them out of the nest, tossing the dirty ones out. Some of them have wet patches of Viktor’s seed and Yuuri’s slick. He grabs a few from the freshly-laundered pile, replacing the old blankets. He notices his husband returning and asks, “Is it here?” 

“We missed quite a few,” he replies, blushing slightly as he flips through the brown envelopes. “More than a few. Five, actually.” 

The omega shoves down his panic, but he wonders, “Has something happened?” 

“I don’t think so. They would have made several telephone calls,” Viktor reassures. He hands the stack of envelopes to the omega and slips his arms out of the housecoat. 

Yuuri begins with the first one. "'Artyom tantrum over cabbages. Wanted potatoes. Ekaterina finished her telegram. Anton tried climbing bookshelf. Yuuko.'" He switches to English, "That one is the oldest. Oh, and here is one from Katyusha." He shifts his weight as Viktor throws an arm around his neck, the other man peering at the next telegram. "'French lessons. Don't like German. Want more chocolate snacks. Tyoma drew on my journal. He needs to stop. Ekaterina.'" 

"We should get Tyoma a journal of his own. That way Katyusha wouldn't sound displeased, and he can do whatever he wants with his," Viktor muses. 

"Maybe one for Antosha when he gets older." He opens another telegram. "'All children in bed. No fuss. Yuuko.' Oh, and it looks like Katyusha enjoyed sending her first telegram so much that she sent a second one. She said, 'When are you coming home? Artyom Viktorovich annoys me. Ekaterina.'" 

"She must be very annoyed," the alpha muses. He whistles at that. "Calling him Artyom Viktorovich. She must have learned that from Governess Baranovskaya. No one else would call Tyoma like that." 

"Katyusha learns quickly." 

"She is almost five. Already growing up so soon," Viktor says, a touch of pride in his voice. "Before we left Kiev, she wrote her name perfectly. Not a single letter wrong." 

"Really?" 

"Yes." 

He opens the last telegram and reads it aloud, "'Ekaterina, Artyom in class. Anton tried climbing bookshelf again and cried. Wanted to play with toy soldier. Played with it for less than thirty seconds. Yuuko.'" He sets the stack of telegrams on the coffee table, shaking his head in mirth. He can sense Yuuko's exasperation, leaching through the telegram. "Vitya, do you think Antosha spent a long time trying to obtain the toy and once he had it, he became quite bored with it?" 

Yuuri can see it so clearly in his mind's eye. He sees Anton attempting to climb the bookshelf. He has just begun to crawl yet he is ambitious enough to try climbing, his little hands gripping the lowest shelf in a valiant attempt to lift himself up. Once he realizes he can't retrieve the shiny toy soldier, he begins to cry. He would bet a lot of roubles that Makkachin or Vicchan would be right next to him, howling and echoing his sorrow for many minutes until someone comes to help. Yuuko, quite haggard, would lift him into her arms and let him pick out the toy from the bookshelf. Anton would probably shake the toy, once and twice and thrice, quickly losing interest. Then he would drop the toy to the ground without a care, curiosity satisfied but with his minders irritated. 

"Well, it is not always the goal. It's sometimes about the journey." 

* * *

It is in the midst of the third day, where sunlight is gently streaming through the wind-parted curtains, when Viktor finally makes good on his promise to gently bend Yuuri over a round table, which must have been cleared of the lamp and small figurines while the omega was napping. The alpha spreads Yuuri’s cheeks apart, exploring his puffy hole. “Oh, zolotse, you’re so wet here. Do you want my cock again?”

“Yes,” Yuuri moans, shifting his weight as he arches his hip. He presents, a shiver dancing over his back as the cold air brushes against his folds. “Vitya,” he shamelessly begs, following Viktor's touch, “please. I need it.” 

“You’re so insatiable.” 

Is that ever a bad thing? 

When Viktor finally stops teasing the omega and slides his cock into Yuuri's wet gaping cunt, he nearly cries in relief. Skin slaps against skin, and the omega tightens his grip around the short table's legs, certain of permanent marks and bruises on his knees from bearing part of his weight. The table shakes yet remains sturdy like the paintings on the wall as Viktor controls the pace, brutally thrusting into the omega. 

"Yuura, you're so good to me," breathes Viktor. "Hold yourself back. Don't be greedy, zolotse." 

"Ah, Vitya," cries Yuuri. He whines when the alpha suddenly pulls out of him, denying a knot. "Vitya, please." 

"If only you could see yourself, zolotse, wet and open for me. The way you stretch around me," he growls. "You'll take everything I give you, wouldn't you?" 

"Yes, please, Vitya." 

"What a lovely photograph you would make right now," the alpha purrs. 

He blushes hard at the thought of an actual photograph of Yuuri shamelessly opening his legs and presenting his wet cunt to a camera all for Viktor's pleasure, but the idea of it is frighteningly arousing. There are many things the omega is willing to do for his husband. He squirms, the table's wooden legs somehow sturdy under his steel grip. Yuuri can hear Viktor stroking himself for minutes, torturing the omega so. How could Viktor be so patient and not press himself into Yuuri, thoroughly knotting him so? 

A few more strokes and Viktor splashes hot seed all over Yuuri's butt cheeks, obscenely marking the omega. He pants audibly and finally murmurs, "This would make a nice photograph as well." 

Yuuri shivers again, not from the cold. He can feel the seed cooling on his skin and his slick messily dripping down from his cunt and onto his inner thighs, his arousal visible and poignant in the air. "Vitya," he begs again, his eyes closed. 

"Don't worry, zolotse. I'll clean you up." But the alpha doesn't reach for a towel. Instead, he bends and presses a tongue to the omega's cheek, lapping up his own seed and sending the omega squirming with need. He slowly pulls back, hot breath dancing across Yuuri's skin as he speaks. "Yuura, don't move so much." 

The omega whines under the other man's ministrations, resisting the urge to squirm under the kitten licks. He can't help but leak copious amounts of slick as the alpha cleans his seed first and then parts his thighs to lap up the slick merrily dripping down to Yuuri's knees. "Vitya, please, I need ah!" He clenches around Viktor's finger, desperately seeking more. It's not enough to satisfy him. 

"Shh, I know what you need, zolotse." He inserts a second finger, thrusting in and out of Yuuri's sopping hole. "I only adore the way you look. So needy for more. So needy for me." He withdraws his fingers, audibly sucking them clean. 

Yuuri feels a hard cold object slip into his hole, sinking in inch by inch. "Vitya," the omega whines in complaint. It is not as fulfilling, and the dildo will never be able to completely satisfy him, not in the way Viktor's cock could. 

"You know, Yuura," he muses lightly, almost taunting in tone. He shoves the toy in and out of the omega's dripping cunt. "You took the toy so well that I have to see you take it again. You look so beautiful stretched around this. But," he pauses thoughtfully, sliding a finger into Yuuri's hole alongside the glass dildo, "you're also so loose." 

Yuuri shivers, spreading his legs wider in invitation. He presses a moan against the edge of the table, not receiving enough from Viktor and the second finger exploring inside Yuuri's hole. 

Viktor's voice is deceptively quiet and soft as he whispers his next words. "Do you think we should photograph this?" 

And the omega leaks, practically gushing slick down his inner thighs, down the same areas of skin Viktor licked clean moments before. “Vitya,” he cries, the name sounding like a prayer. The fever of the heat increases, and he knows he is close to having everything he wants, everything he needs. He only needs the alpha to give everything to him, to stop denying himself in revenge for teasing Viktor the other night over dinner. “Vitya, please. Vitya, I want you.” He wants Viktor’s cock in him so badly that he can hear his voice breaking. 

“Shh,” he says, shushing the omega. “Trust me, zolotse.” Then he torturously withdraws everything from the omega’s cunt, pulling out his fingers and the glass dildo. He lazily presses his erected cock against Yuuri’s curvy cheek, expertly teasing the other man. 

It doesn’t feel soon enough when he finally enters Yuuri. He idly impales the omega to the base, the beginning of his knot pushing against Yuuri’s folds. He bends down, pressing a soft kiss between Yuuri’s quivering shoulder blades, and rolls his hips, drawing out the pleasure. 

His mouth is close enough to send a warm breath across the nape of Yuuri’s neck. “You’re so loose from all the times I’ve knotted you, zolotse. I wonder if I can fit the toy and my cock in you.” 

Yuuri’s cunt clenches around the alpha, tightening at that thought. Heat addles his mind, and he can picture it so clearly, the glass dildo and the alpha’s cock buried so firmly inside him. Each one can be alternated in the omega’s cunt, one pushing in and the other pulling out. They can both stretch him out so wide that Viktor’s knot can be pulled out of him without deflating, and he’s suddenly screaming and milking every bit of seed out of the alpha’s cock as the knot thoroughly plugs him, preventing any drops from escaping. 

Weighing down on the omega and the table, Viktor leisurely nips at the side of the omega’s neck, drinking in the omega’s scent. “Zolotse,” he murmurs. 

If there was no cervical cap, Yuuri would be, without a single doubt, pregnant. 

When Viktor’s knot goes down, the other man gently pulls himself out of the omega’s cunt. “I’m going to get a towel, zolotse. I’ll clean you up.” 

The omega purrs in response, naked and sore on the table. Clarity slowly returns to him, and he suddenly becomes aware of his uncomfortable positioning and the way the table’s circular edges bite into his skin. Yuuri blinks, his vision clearing. He tilts his head out of bewilderment, noticing the blurry fine details of the table’s legs. He unlocks his fingers around the legs, realizing with no small amount of horror that they aren't wooden legs at all. 

They're an artist's rendition of several penises. 

With more force than necessary, Yuuri pushes himself off the table and frantically slaps his husband's bare shoulder. 

"Huh, what is it?" 

"Look." He points to the offending piece of furniture. "Look." It is the only word he can manage. 

Viktor does, his jaw dropping the moment realization hits. "I have never seen anything like this before in my life." 

A close inspection to every single piece of furniture finds a similar pattern. The chair, the table, the chest of drawers, the silver candleholders, and even the bookshelves are all decorated with perverse erotic art that could only have been commissioned or collected by Catherine the Great, the original occupant of these rooms. There is art of penises sticking out at the foot of the table, and there are small images of legs being spread in the corners of the coffee table, exposing every detail. Extraordinarily detailed penis carvings can be found etched in the wooden shelves of the bookcase. In a strange way, it is astounding to Yuuri how none of the art is crude or ill-mannered. 

He is also a little bit more puzzled about how neither Viktor nor him noticed the bizarre erotic art in the furniture they were using. Now that he  _ knows, _ he can see all of them quite clearly. 

In nothing but silence, Yuuri stares long and hard at the particular art on the back of a chair depicting a demonic face sticking half of a forked tongue into a waiting orifice. Finally, he shuts his eyes to the image and mutters, "I do not know what to say." 

Viktor makes a noncommittal hum. "Every time we discover something, I thought that would be the end of the oddities. First, it was the collection of toys. Then it was the books. Now it is the art. I’m almost afraid to discover something else.” A pause. “I can see why Mama had forbade us from entering these rooms when we were young." 

The omega shakes his head, still too shocked to think or feel anything else. 

"I do hope this will be the last of the interesting discoveries we make." 

Yuuri slowly nods. "Yes, I hope the same." 

* * *

With his heat shrinking back and his body quite sore with an impressive array of bruises and crescent-shaped marks standing out on his pale skin, Yuuri curls up to the alpha reading aloud. They’re close to finishing the book, having already read through several telegrams from Yuuko who has found herself quite exasperated over a mess the triplets and Ekaterina caused in an unused room. Several blankets tightly wrap around the two of them. The fireplace crackles occasionally, the flames licking several logs. 

The story follows Philip fooling himself into thinking he could satisfy both Pierre and his superiors. He could spend time in his lover's bed and pass information to his employer to keep them both, his alpha and his job. He wants to eat his cake and have it too. But word comes that the French authorities were growing suspicious of the Commander and were afraid that he may have been bought by British pounds, his heart turned away from France. They were clever enough to feed unique false military secrets to each of their suspects. The only grace is that Philip did not give his superior the full military report, leaving the British forces to formulate a counterattack to the false French military positions on imprecise information. They had to infer the French formations. 

But the noose of death tightens around Philip’s neck, the omega dancing a few steps away from the guillotine. Philip's superior, having discovered the rotten information the omega passed, realized the Commander was as good as a lame pig and was suspicious that the Commander may have suspected Philip. Callously, he ordered the omega to assassinate him and escape to London by sea. Philip stood at the crossroads, frozen by the difficult choices laid before him. 

In the last chapter of the book, Viktor reads the last few paragraphs aloud, "'He knew that in his heart he could not kill his beloved. This was the truth that he can’t deny nor could he lie and say that the sun rises from the west. This order was not doable for Philip to carry out even if it came from the English King himself and not from his superior, written down in an official decree or law. He could not slip poison to the Commander's drink, and he knew that the French investigators were closing in upon Pierre, suspecting the alpha of treason and itching to execute him.”

Yuuri holds his breath, wondering how the story could possibly complete itself to a satisfying conclusion when it is so close to the end. 

Turning the page, Viktor continues, his baritone voice soothing, “‘So he did what other cowardly men had done when the walls were closing around them like a filthy rat in a corner and pulled himself out of the equation. Like a thief clothed in nothing but shadows and deceit, he broke his way into Pierre’s bedroom. He shamelessly and selfishly stole Pierre’s favorite scarves, the one that felt like a cloud yet was wondrously warm to wear. Memories came over him, and he softly smiled at the thought of Pierre wrapping the omega around the neck when he was cold. He found Pierre’s favorite coat and left an envelope in the inner breast pocket. He quietly hoped Pierre would find it one day. Then he escaped from the familiar bedchambers, the place where they’ve spent many nights together, and took his horse down to the piers to flee from the French authorities unknowingly nipping at his heels. He disappeared from Paris like an unnamed ghost forgotten in time.’” 

The omega shuts his eyes, feeling the tendrils of sleep slipping over him. 

Viktor lands on the very last page of the book. He holds it closer to the light. “‘My dearest Pierre, you deserve many explanations. I never wanted any of this to happen, and I’m sorry for the trouble I caused. If you find yourself willing to forgive, I will be waiting for you in St. Augustine of the New World. Much love, Philip.’” A pause as he shuts the book. “The end.” 

“What do you think of it?” Yuuri wonders aloud. He can't help but think of it as a truly awful ending, especially for Philip to abandon Pierre to the French investigators and for the alpha to be left to the heavy risk of execution. His ideal ending would be for Philip to steal Pierre away and for both of them to board a ship to the New World, to America, where they can live together in peace. Perhaps Philip should have come clean about his true intentions, but at the same time, Yuuri understands why Philip wouldn't say a thing nor admit that he is the British spy everyone was looking for. Some lies are difficult to break, especially when they've existed for years. 

“I would have preferred a happy ending over an open one,” he answers after a moment, his face drawn in contemplation. He sets the book outside of their nest, scooting to lay down completely in the nest. “There’s no such thing as a happy ending in life, so I believe all stories should have one.” He rolls over to face Yuuri, pushing the black strands out of the omega’s eyes with a shaking hand. He sighs and says, “You know that a lot of my family died from assassinations. My ancestors as well.” 

“I do.” 

“A hard, time-proven fact about Russian royalty, where they tend to be killed by their enemies,” he adds, sighing again. Perhaps he is thinking of his grandfather or of his uncle. “A very happy ending for a Russian royal would be to die of old age and surrounded by their spouse and children. That would be the happiest. I would be happiest. Even if I die completely bald and hairless and wrinkled and perhaps maybe even senile.” 

“Yes.” Opening his eyes, Yuuri feels his breath caught in his throat, his attention so thoroughly captured by Viktor’s glimmering teary own. When he touches his cheeks, he realizes he is crying, too. Tears drip down to his chin, wetting their nest. He hates the idea of Viktor dying young, and yes, while it is painful to think of Viktor dying at all, he would want this happy ending for both of them. He has never liked the idea of God or of religion, but he is willing to pray and to devoutly believe for them to have their happy ending. 

“Solnyshko,” Viktor breathes. “If I die at old age with you by my side, I would be a happy man indeed.” A pause. “But in the meanwhile, give me a happy middle, a happy journey.” Another pause and a breath and then he softly utters, “Please.” With those words, he tightly wraps his arms around the omega, sheltering Yuuri with his steady, familiar warmth and scent. 

“Vitya?” Yuuri utters. 

He hums. “Yes?” 

“I love you.” 

“I know.” 


	12. Chapter V

Yuuri wakes up in their nest to voices shouting from the garden. Viktor is nowhere to be found, having slipped out of the omega's arms without waking him up. Wearing only pajama bottoms, which is the most modest of clothing his alpha gave him last night, the omega reaches for his spectacles and quietly makes his way to the open window, tilting an ear towards the sound. From this shorter distance, he can pick up the fact that the conversation is spoken in English. Both voices sound familiar. Then he realizes that it is his husband arguing with none other than the Tsar, who is Emperor of All the Russias, himself. 

He wonders why the Tsar has bothered to make a small trip from the Alexander Palace to here, speaking to his brother in person and in the garden instead of coming inside for tea. 

"Why do you care?" Viktor says, dressed in his familiar grey housecoat and fur-lined slippers. He brushes a hand through his silver hair. "It is my husband's program, not mine." In a steadier voice, he points out, "You will do well to remember that he is the grandson of the Japanese Emperor. Japan buys a lot of oil barrels from us, Nicky." 

"What he does not understand hurts us, Vitya. There are some people who do not deserve to reap the benefits and kindness of your husband's education program." 

Viktor shakes his head, kicking the base of a marble statue. "Nicky, if Sunny asks you to do anything, to move land and sea, would you do it?" 

The Tsar doesn't answer right away. "I would." 

"Then you understand why I'm not going to persuade or convince Yuura to change his program to your liking." In a softer voice, he adds, affecting a friendlier tone, "Japan is different than Russia. Everyone is Japanese, and there are no Jews or Muslims or anyone like that. He wouldn't understand, and to him, every European looks the same. Think of it this way, Nicky. It is not worth explaining to a fish of what it is like to fly." 

The Tsar slowly nods at that. "I suppose Minister Kasso has overstepped his authority." He walks a few steps closer to Yuuri's husband, pointing a finger at him. "But what I've said about Mariyinsky Palace still holds, Vitya. If you can afford that program, then you can afford this." The Tsar walks away, briskly cutting his path across the garden without another word. 

The omega watches his husband kick the marble statue again out of frustration, wincing as he slowly stumbles back inside.

* * *

Yuuri doesn't bring it up until they're on the train back to Kiev. He holds a newspaper in his hands, the ink staining his fingertips. The page is open to an article about a boxing match in America that inspired riots. Tilting his head at his husband, he says, "Vitya?" 

"Yes, zolotse?" 

"What happened in the gardens earlier this morning?" 

The alpha lifts his head from his leather-bound journal. He sets down his pen and scratches the bridge of his nose. He stands up in the moving train and seats himself next to Yuuri. Inhaling slowly, he answers, "I had an argument with Nicky. It is about your program." 

"And?" Yuuri prompts. 

"He wants to impose some restrictions on it. About omegas, non-Russians, and some other small things. I told him no, and he was very unhappy about it, but I believe he may have told Minister Kasso to stop harassing the program through letters." 

Yuuri narrows his eyes. "But there is something else he said. About Mariyinsky Palace." 

Viktor jolts. "You did hear our conversation." 

"Only some of it." 

The alpha shifts uncomfortably. "This is not going to sound pleasant, but a part of the agreement my brother and I had for me to marry you was regarding Mariyinsky Palace. I live in Kiev for many months out of a year, but my villa is unfitting for a Japanese prince. I was to give up my villa to my brother, and in exchange, Mariyinsky Palace was made to be our permanent residence and will no longer be a vacation home for my brother or anyone of the family." 

"But?" Did the Tsar threaten to rescind this promise? Are they getting kicked out of their home? Is this a form of petty revenge? 

"He funded the maintenance and the upkeep of Mariyinsky Palace. We are the ones who hire the staff and the workers, but the money in the palace's accounts is his. What he said earlier today is that if I could afford to pay for your program, then I can afford the costs of Mariyinsky Palace. He will no longer be putting in funds in that account." 

It is petty revenge then. 

"Oh. Is it a lot of money? Should I be worried?" The omega has never actually seen the complete accounting books for the palace itself. He knows Yuuko has access to some of the funds to pay the maids, gardeners, and other workers the palace needs. 

"Yuura, we will be fine," Viktor assures, patting the younger man's knee. "It is only an inconvenience to me and more upsetting that my brother is severely offended by your program and wishes it to be reformed in his image. I'm shocked that he was so intent on these changes to the point he started making threats." A pause. "I realized I made a rather unflattering comparison between you and a fish. I hope you didn't hear that. I'm sorry." 

Yuuri shakes his head, already having forgiven the alpha. He rests his cheek against Viktor's shoulder, breathing in the other man's familiar citrusy scent. "It is alright. But you couldn't have appealed to your brother's better senses instead? The program benefits all children of Russia." 

"He doesn't see it that way. It is something he inherited from our father, the belief that some people are lesser than others because of some characteristics that makes them different." 

Yuuri is not as altruistic as Viktor. As a foreigner and once the enemy of Russia, he knows he must gain supporters and be favored in the eyes of the people. No one is born equal, but every person in Russia has a voice and their capabilities. One day, he will need to call on them to support his son and squash all thoughts of revolution and love for a different Tsar. 

"Yuura?" Viktor pauses. "I know this is quite soon to ask, but would you consider us hosting a Christmas party in Kiev again?" 

"What about the party in St. Petersburg?" 

"Would you like to attend?" 

Yuuri pauses to think about it. It would be nice to see Xenia again and perhaps even Viktor's uncle, but he would hardly miss anyone else and he doubts anyone would miss seeing him. He shakes his head in answer. 

"I'm afraid we won't be able to attend, and neither can Nicky's family attend ours." A bitter smile crosses his face.

* * *

Nothing changes with Mariyinsky Palace. It resumes its business as if it has always been funded by Viktor all along. Money continues to be transferred and deposited into the palace's accounts, and no one notices a thing. Instead, a small celebration is thrown for the successful implementation of the program in Kharkiv and other neighboring cities. It is an ambitious goal, but Yuuri hopes that the program can be spread as far as Odessa, a port city sitting on the edge of the Mediterranean. He does not dare to spread the program north, expanding the area of influence close to St. Petersburg. At least, not yet. It is lucky that Viktor was able to talk the Tsar out of meddling with the program, and thankfully, the Minister of Education has also ceased with his letters. 

Time flies by. Ekaterina learns to write a few more words, and her handwriting begins to smooth out, looking less jagged by day. Artyom still follows his older sister around, dressed in the warmest coats as a cold winter arrives. And Anton gets himself into trouble, eagerly hiding behind armchairs and sofas to escape his team of minders. Yuuri sends out Christmas party invitations, and only two respond: Xenia and Olga Alexandrovna. He receives a few replies, citing a busy schedule. He especially enjoys the concluding portion of his sister-in-law's letter. 

_ It is a great pity that you and Vitya will not be able to attend our Christmas party in St. Petersburg. I have been looking forward to seeing you and your husband and your children, and having eagerly anticipated meeting Anton for the first time for more than a year, I am greatly disappointed to miss the opportunity to hold your youngest child.  _

_ I'll be certain to send you and your family wonderful gifts this year. I think you'll love and enjoy them very much.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Sunny _

Last year, she sent Viktor a box of Turkish cigars he will never use and Yuuri a slightly lopsided knit hat. She gave Ekaterina a surprisingly nice set of fountain pens, Artyom some of Alexei's gently used clothes, and Anton a small rattle that is unsuitable for a young child. Yuuri is struggling to come up with his own subtly offending gifts. 

The winter is cold enough that the pond freezes over, creating a solid smooth surface. Viktor pours roubles into the pocket of a local shoemaker to commission figure skating shoes for Yuuri, Ekaterina, and Artyom. Anton is still too young to be figure skating, but Yuuri has heard Viktor excitedly whisper into the child’s ear that he will have the opportunity to skate next year. 

Bundled up in his thickest coat, Yuuri scrapes along the ice, unused to the strange art of figure skating. He thinks he has successfully learned how to glide, but as soon as the wind blows the wrong way, it takes everything in the omega to not frantically wave his arms and lose his balance. 

Meanwhile, Ekaterina gleefully skates on the frozen pond, laughing in delight as she experiments with twists and turns. Viktor, who is the most experienced with the ice, hunches over and does a strange mixture of squatting and skating as Artyom shuffles forward with both gloved hands clasped tightly around the alpha’s for balance. 

“Wonderful!” Yuuko shouts in Japanese, clapping Anton’s hands as they watch from the bench. She instantly ducks the second one of the triplets laugh and toss a fistful of snow over her head. “Ruttsu, what are you doing?” 

“I didn’t do it,” defensively replies the girl, her sable gloves stained with melting snow. She yelps when her sister mashes a fistful of snow into her face. "You deserve this!" she shouts, bending down to grasp snow and chasing her sister. 

Yuuri skates towards Yuuko, stepping on a messy blanket of snow and managing to sit safely on the bench. “They’re not skating?” 

“They were skating last night,” Yuuko says in Japanese, referencing the triplets. “I think they will return to the ice soon. They like it very much. It’s such a shame the pond isn’t frozen over all year round. They have to find something else to amuse themselves.” 

The omega nods, flashing a smile when Artyom and Viktor begin skating in his direction. “Tyoma,” he calls out in delight, “you’re skating beautifully!” 

Viktor helps Artyom to the edge of the frozen pond. "Zolotse, would you hold him?" He lifts the boy into Yuuri's waiting arms. "Thank you." Then the alpha skates off, gliding to Ekaterina. 

"You want to watch Papa?" Yuuri asks, setting the boy onto his lap. 

"I want to skate," he protests. 

The omega hides a wince. He can't help his son with that. "Let's watch Papa and Katyusha. Let's see what they're doing." 

"Fine." 

With silver hair whipping, Viktor gracefully skates backwards and pulls into a stationary spin. He demonstrates the trick for a few seconds and then pulls out of the spin. "You see it, Katyusha?" 

The girl nods in concentration. She tries it herself and stops, giggling. "Papa, I'm dizzy now!" 

"It takes practice." 

"Uncle Viktor! Uncle Viktor!" The triplets wave at him from the edge of the pond. "Can you show us how to do that?" 

The alpha easily laughs. "Sure! Get your skates on!"

* * *

Without an interruption from Minister Kasso, this year's Christmas party seems normal. The children run around screaming, undeterred by any concept of behaving. More guests show up this year, and Viktor's sisters take it in stride when they learn they're dining with the palace's staff and their families. Ekaterina dutifully attends without protest and even helps with handing out Christmas gifts to the guests. 

"Yuura, you should throw one next year," Xenia says.

"I might." 

And when Viktor steals him away towards the gardens to kiss him under the mistletoe, Yuuri thinks it will be a grand tradition to host a Christmas party in Kiev.

* * *

Several rooms are remodeled with new water pipes and drains installed for the Turkish bath on the first storey, free to be used by Yuuri and Viktor. A nesting room has also been constructed next to Yuuri's bedroom and possesses a fireplace and several cabinets to contain a growing collection of toys. 

Buried in blankets, the omega plants his chin on the wall of his nest as he reads under an electric lamp. 

"Do you know what would be nice?" 

"What?" 

"An ice skating rink." 

Bewildered, Yuuri tilts his head towards his husband, drawing his attention away from the newspaper. "A what exactly?" 

"An ice skating rink. That way you can still skate on ice during the summer, when the weather is too warm for frozen ponds and lakes. It would be wonderful to have one in Kiev. They have one in Boston." 

"The children do like figure skating." They even seemed enchanted with the idea of attending a World Figure Skating Championships when it returns to Russia, hosted by the city of St. Petersburg. 

"I did entertain the idea of building one or converting a building, so it would be in the palace. There is enough room and land for it, but I thought better." 

Yuuri rolls onto his back, shuffling down and adjusting himself. He rests his head on his husband's shoulder, his fingers skimming across the alpha's bare torso underneath the blankets. "If you don't want it here, then where will it be?" 

"I acquired a piece of land a little north of here, right by the river. It is close enough to be accessible for us, but when we are not using it, I would want the public to have the chance to figure skate for fun. It has to be through paid admission to reduce the number of people visiting, but I would like for the admission sales to be able to cover for the maintenance of the rink." 

"You thought about this." 

"A lot," Viktor admits. He turns his head, azure eyes sparkling with passion. "As a child, I used to figure skate and I've always missed winter, the only time when the water is cold enough to freeze. With how much Katyusha and Tyoma love the ice, I thought about giving them the ice whenever they want it." 

"Then why not?" The omega presses a soft kiss at the corner of Viktor's lip. 

Viktor follows him for another kiss. Then he rolls onto Yuuri, his hands eagerly reaching inside of the omega's sleeping wear with no words but Yuuri's name and  _ zolotse  _ left to say.

* * *

It takes five months for the rink to be completed. The opening of the ice rink creates a sense of excitement among the city's residents. But it is nothing to the complete joy expressed by the children and the triplets as they demand to visit the rink daily. After one French lesson, Ms. Baranovskaya has once privately told Yuuri that she can make all of her students do their assignments if she promises to bring them to the rink to skate. 

In between raising the children and visiting classrooms and meeting with officials of cities Yuuru wants to expand the program to, Yuuri barely notices when December arrives again. A Christmas party is thrown with the palace's staff and family invited. Xenia comes without her husband, and Olga skips this year's party, attending the one in St. Petersburg instead. 

“Your husband is not here?” Yuuri wonders politely. 

“No, he is in St. Petersburg.” Xenia sips from her wine glass and adds, under her breath, “And I prefer it that way.” 

Yuuri doesn’t offer any comments about that. Instead, he says, pointing to the gaggle of children playing in the corner, “Look at them all. They are all growing up so fast.” 

“Time passes quickly,” she agrees, swaying next to the tree. “I heard you’re trying to expand the program south. To Odessa.” 

“Yes, it is a bit difficult. The road conditions are poor, and I am trying to petition the city to improve them,” Yuuri says. “It makes it difficult for the program to deliver food from the fields.” 

“You’re not thinking about expanding it north?” 

“Maybe when the program is established in Odessa.” The omega doesn’t admit to his sister-in-law that he is mildly afraid of attracting the Tsar’s attention if he dares to even cough in the direction of St. Petersburg. Southern Russia is safer and further away from the Tsar’s reach. He might consider going east before he tries the most populated cities like St. Petersburg and Moscow. 

"Have you heard the recent rumors about Rasputin?" 

"The holy man," Yuuri pauses, realizing his sister-in-law is still waiting for his answer. "I heard some gossip." 

"He is disturbingly close to Nicky and the family. This relationship has tongues wagging behind their backs." Xenia finishes her wine glass. "But I daresay that the worst rumors have come to my ears. He is reported to have an appalling sexual appetite. Connect this to the Tsarina, the Empress of Russia, and you begin to see a dangerous picture." 

"Do you think it's true?" 

"I don't think it matters if Sunny and Rasputin are committing adultery. What matters is if people think they are. It reflects badly on not just the Tsarina but also on the position of the Tsar." Xenia turns her head towards the omega, quite serious and a touch afraid even. "This weakens the power of the Tsar." 

* * *

"It is an outrage what the Imperial Army did," Mila says, shaking her head. "What an awful thing it is to shoot upon starving miners who work in the most inconceivable conditions ever. Did you hear about the working conditions?" 

"I have." Yuuri has read all about the tragedy in Siberia. They're calling it the Lena Massacre. Striking miners were shot by the Imperial Army, and deaths exceeded two hundred. This incident has sparked ongoing protests all over Russia, hitting St. Petersburg the hardest. There are even strikes in Kiev, workers protesting the factory conditions. The omega is relieved that none of the program's farmworkers have gone on strike other than to collectively sign a letter to request a reduction in hours in a workday, changing it from ten to eight. "It is terrible. To work in a mine." 

"I wish the working conditions were better. I wish the owners would look at their hands and fingers and ask themselves how much they're worth. Then they should use that number to pay the injured workers a fair compensation." 

"Yes." Yuuri knows that his husband speculates and owns a lot of shares in factories and companies that are affected by the national strike. The alpha only remarked his hope that the Duma properly reacts with a law that will satisfy the request of the workers and that this strike doesn't destabilize Russia for long. 

"Maybe you can publish an open letter in the newspapers to voice your support," Mila suggests. "A joint letter written by you and your husband could help."

* * *

An open letter is printed on the third page of Russia's most popular newspaper. It is brief, issuing official condolences to the families of the miners who died in the massacre, sympathy for the miners wanting a better and safer working condition, and a plea to the Imperial Duma to consider protecting the rights of workers to ensure the tragedy will never happen again. Yuuri is surprised to have received an outpouring of letters and replies from readers. 

Phichit gleefully reads through them, laughing at the letters filled with reasons why Yuuri and his husband are unqualified to write about something they know nothing about. "I am most certainly not replying to this one," he declares. 

"Are a lot of them filled with hate?" The omega wonders if there's something in those letters that may put a target on his back. Should he have not written it and encouraged Viktor to sign it? 

"No, a lot of workers actually appreciate your support, your understanding, and your attention. I'll have my assistants type responses to those letters, but I am merely taking personal joy in reading hate. Unfortunately, there are extreme dissenting opinions. I'm passing copies to Morooka and Takeshi, so they can look over them." 

"How extreme?" 

"Threatening in nature." At the paling look on the omega's face, Phichit reassures, "Don't worry. They're far and few between. You have more positive letters than negatives. Besides, Morooka is good at what he does." 

* * *

Yuuri is in the middle of finishing up his journal entry when a frantic knock on the drawing room's door shakes him out of his thoughts. He shuts the journal and calls out, "Come in." 

A maid allows herself in. She hands a brown envelope to the omega and explains in Russian, "Mr. Chulanont passed this telegram to me. He told me it arrived only thirty minutes ago, straight from your father." 

"My father?" Yuuri repeats in bewilderment, as if he has never realized he has a father. His father would never send a telegram unless it's urgent. Without noticing the maid's hasty exit, he rips open the telegram and pushes up his spectacles to read the message. 

It is short.

_ The Emperor passed away on July 29 at 22:40.  _

The omega has to reread the telegram to grasp its meaning. He drops it onto the table, sitting back in his chair. He knows the standard protocols. The Imperial Palace of Japan will inform the public of the Emperor's death, and a coronation will be held for Yuuri's father. But the death of the Emperor comes as a shock to him. He has never expected it to happen to his grandfather. 

"Yuura, dinner is ready." Viktor pauses in the doorway, concerned. "Are you alright?" 

"The Emperor of Japan has passed away." 

"I'm sorry." The alpha shuts the door behind him and takes a seat next to Yuuri, throwing an arm around the younger man's shoulders. 

Yuuri startles. He supposes it is the right thing for Viktor to say, but Yuuri, who has few interactions with his grandfather, doesn't feel much sorrow at all. He feels shock but also the steady thrum of acceptance. 

"What happens next?" 

"My father becomes Emperor, and Mari is now the heir apparent," the omega answers. "A funeral will be held in a month after all the ceremonial rites have been completed." 

"You should go." 

"What?" 

"You should go to the funeral," the alpha finishes. "It is your grandfather, and your family is in mourning." 

He hesitates. "Vitya, why don't you and the children come with me? To Japan?" 

"I'll go with you." Viktor glances up at the ceiling. "The funeral is in a month, you say?" 

"They will give me an exact date later, and they will announce his passing to the public in the morning. In Japan's morning. You will give a notice to the army?" 

"I will ask for a month off." 

* * *

The weeks after the news breaks out that the Japanese Emperor has died brings many well-wishes from people, giving their condolences to Yuuri. Georgi is among the many, drinking tea in Yuuri's drawing room and murmuring words the omega has already heard before. 

Still, Yuuri inclines his head. "Thank you." 

The principal says, "I also want to congratulate you for the successful implementation of the program in Odessa." 

"It will be a semester before we know if it is truly successful, but I am confident that the program will take root." Yuuri can't help the flash of excitement. Odessa is the farthest city the program has reached and will require the use of regular transportation to deliver the harvest until the land sitting on the Odessa's outskirts is producing crops. 

"I also want to give you this." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple white envelope, handing it over to the omega. "It is an invitation to my wedding. It will be happening on the eighth of September." 

"It is unfortunate that I will not be able to attend. I'm traveling to Japan for the funeral." 

Georgi looks disappointed. "I see." 

"Would you please wait here? I must fetch something." Yuuri rises from the sofa and steps out of the drawing room. He makes his way to the bedroom and pulls a small jewelry box from the chest of drawers. He opens the box to inspect the contents and then shuts it, satisfied. Then he returns to the drawing room, where Georgi waits in puzzlement. "I want to give something to you." 

Georgi catches the jewelry box. Then he peeks inside of it and shakes his head. "Your Imperial Highness, I will not accept this. I can't accept this." Before Yuuri can begin his protests, he adds, "Let me explain why." He sets the jewelry box on the coffee table, right next to Yuuri's teacup. "This ring represents a dream I've long let go off. Anya is gone, and the life I will start with my fiance is my future. I will not accept this ring." 

The omega nods. "Then what shall I do with it?" 

"You could wear it yourself." 

He lifts up his right hand, flashing the simple golden ring at the other man. "The only jewelry I wear is this. I don't wear anything else." 

"Then," Georgi pauses in thought. "I know you can't return the ring to the jeweler for a refund, but maybe you could donate it to the program. Or maybe you can auction it off and then use the money for the program." 

* * *

With the train being severely delayed due to weather, they miss the entirety of the Emperor's funeral. They manage to arrive in Kyoto the morning of the coronation's enthronement ceremony. It is a quiet proceeding, and Yuuri has to squint to see blurry figures in the distance as he sits in a pavilion containing foreign dignitaries. He tries to quietly explain the procedure to Viktor and the children. "The ladies wear an outfit called the jūnihitoe. You should know that colors are important. Purple is only worn by the royal family." 

"This isn't like the coronations in the fairy tales," Ekaterina says, leaning forward in her seat. "Where are the crowns?" 

"Japan does a coronation differently than an European one. There is no crown. No one wears a crown here." 

"Oh." 

"Are we done yet?" Artyom asks, sticking his tongue out petulantly. 

Yuuri stops himself from grimacing at his son. "No, they've only started." 

He knows that the coronation isn't anything like a ballet show. It is slow, traditional, and ritualistic. In the courtyard, men holding banners sit in a line, still even as the wind blows. On the stage, the Japanese princesses are moving into position, Mari wearing a purple jūnihitoe with her hair long and tied behind her back. They stand off to the side of the room with Japanese princes and officials on the opposite side. 

"What are those two tents?" 

"The one with a phoenix on top?" 

"Yeah." 

"It is called a Takamikura, Katyusha." A Takamikura is large enough to contain a single person and a throne inside of it. Decorated with golden arches at the top and the statue of a phoenix, embroidered purple curtains shield the person from view until it's time. 

She gasps. "They're pulling the curtains away, and Grandpa is inside!" 

Viktor chuckles softly. "Katyusha has excellent eyes." 

Without his spectacles, Yuuri doesn't see the proceedings very well even from the front row. But he remembers the procedures of enthronement from the books he read about them. Two attendants at each Takamikura pull aside the purple curtains to reveal the Emperor and the Empress, both dressed in traditional wear. 

It is a silent affair. 

Eventually, Yuuri's father emerges from the Takamikura and a copy of his speech is handed to the Emperor. In Japanese, he says, his voice aided by sound transmitters, "I have hereby succeeded to the Throne pursuant to the Constitution of Japan. Looking back upon the past and reflecting on the actions of the late Emperor, I remember how His Majesty the late Emperor felt every joy and sorrow of the people and lived in devout service to them. His Majesty the late Emperor has overseen the greatest development we've ever seen in history, bringing modernization to every life." 

Yuuri agrees. Japan is now a far cry from the backwater empire that once rolled over and exposed its belly to four American warships. 

"I strive to be the leader the people of Japan need."Then he finishes, "I sincerely pray for the happiness of the people and the further development of the nation." Then he rolls up his speech and hands it to the attendant. 

With those finishing remarks, the Prime Minister steps up and bows to the new Emperor. Saionji Kinmochi shouts a series of banzai, while at a distance away cannons are fired by the Imperial Army. 

Once the new Emperor returns to his throne, attendants shutter the curtains of both Takamikuras, hiding the new rulers of Japan, and after a moment, the Emperor and the Empress of Japan along with the court step out of the building in elaborate outfits. 

"Now it is done, Tyoma," Yuuri says, arising from his seat. He notices that as soon as he did so, dozens others followed his lead, taking their exits. 

"What now?" 

"A gala will be held in the ballroom, and we will wait for the Emperor and the Empress," Yuuri answers, finding it odd that they're his parents and not his grandparents, "to come back from a brief tour around Kyoto. Then the celebrations will begin." 

* * *

The gala for the celebration of the Emperor's enthronement swarms with dignitaries, diplomats, and members of foreign courts. Tea is served after dinner has finished, but upon being asked about the lack of participation in the enthronement ceremony for the third or fourth time, Yuuri longs for something alcoholic. He pastes a polite smile on his lips and answers, "I arrived in Kyoto this morning. It was far too late for me to participate." 

Unlike the omega, Viktor stands at ease and converses with the ambassador from Australia. "I know that Minister Poincaré did sign the agreement. It is a good thing to have friends who would fight with us if the Germans ever mobilize for war." 

The other man nods, holding the stem of wine glass between two fingers. "If they ever mobilize. I think they are only bluffing. They are waiting to see who blinks first." 

"I hope you're right, but we Russians have played that game before and it turned out that the threat is very real." 

The smile on the ambassador's face fades away. He nods again, a bit more solemnly. "Yes, I suppose so. Excuse me, Your Highness. I must go over there." He points in a general direction, swaying unsteadily. 

In a softer voice, Yuuri leans over to his husband and whispers, "I think despite how drunk the ambassador is, he did understand your reference to the war." 

"Finally. He was grating, and I had little patience in conversing with him." He glances around, wearing an expression of confusion. "Where did the children go?" 

"To play with Kenji in the reception hall." 

"Oh. I hope they stay out of trouble." 

"Yuuko is with them," he reassures. "I think they will do some exploring. Most of the time, Kyoto Imperial Palace is opened to the public and serves as a museum except for these circumstances." 

"Opened to the public? So anyone can come see it?" The alpha sounds a bit mystified by the concept of a museum, of allowing strangers to visit a palace. 

"Yes, they can walk around in the gardens and come inside but only in some sections of the palace. Not all of it." 

"So my old eyes did not fail me," a voice softly says from behind. Yuuri's grandmother, wearing a formal purple evening dress, waits for them to turn around before continuing on in Japanese. “It is good to see you again, Yuuri. Where are the children? I’ve been waiting to meet the youngest for years.” 

“Playing,” Yuuri answers. 

Viktor steps forward and captures the empress dowager’s gloved hand for a brief kiss. In enunciated Japanese, he politely greets, “Your Majesty, it is a pleasure to meet you again.” 

With approval, she nods and muses, “You’ve come a long way since what you’ve said to me only less than three years ago.” 

Yuuri blinks, confused. His heart skips a beat. 

To the omega’s shock, Viktor nods, apparently understanding every single word. In Japanese, he slowly replies, “Thank you. I didn't mean to cause great offense.” 

“There is no offense when it comes to mistakes in a language you do not know. It is great flattery for Japan that you’ve decided to learn the language. Also,” she pauses, stretching on the tips of her toes and patting Viktor’s cheek with a grandmotherly smile, “you do not need to call me by my royal title. It is Amaya of the Katsuki family, as I’ve said before.” 

Viktor smiles, saying nothing. 

“I better go look for the little princess and princes,” the empress dowager murmurs. Glancing an unamused look towards Yuuri, she adds, “Before I die.” 

“Grandma, you’re not going to die before seeing them.” 

“I might,” she thunders, shaking her head. She glances over to Viktor, pursing her lips. “Get him and your children to visit Japan more often. If my husband didn’t die, I don’t think I would have seen my youngest great-grandson until Heaven.” 

“Grandma,” Yuuri manages, flushing. 

“Now, I must go meet them at least once.” The empress dowager walks away. 

The omega tilts his head, stammering over his words. “Since when did you learn Japanese?” 

“From Takeshi. I had to beg him and bribe him to keep it a secret from you,” he answers, gazing into Yuuri’s eyes. “It seems fair. You learn Russian for me, and I learn Japanese for you.” He glances away, shifting in embarrassment. “Although you know Russian better than I know Japanese.” 

“Vitya,” Yuuri pauses, awed that Viktor has taken the time to learn a foreign language he didn’t have to know. “That is incredible.” 

"Yuuri," a familiar voice calls out. 

"Okaasan," Yuuri whispers. He finds his mother in a sleeveless evening dress. Without even thinking about protocols or proprietary, he throws his arms around his mother's back, pulling her into a hug. "Hello. How does it feel to be Empress?" 

Hiroko lets go of her son and thinks about the question for a moment. "It is merely a change in title and style with more responsibility. I don't think I can do this as well as Amaya." 

"You'll learn in time." 

She laughs. "That sounds like something Amaya will say. Now, Yuuri, please translate what I say." Then Hiroko turns to the alpha. "We didn't get a proper meeting years ago." 

"Your Majesty," Viktor says in Japanese, inclining his head. "We manage to arrive this morning. In time to see the enthronement ceremony. It was an unique experience." 

"I'm pleased that you talk as well as you write." 

It takes all it has in Yuuri for him to not jump in surprise, shocked that Viktor has written to Yuuri's mother before. 

"But please, it is Hiroko to you." 

"Hiroko," Viktor tests out, clearly more at ease with the new Empress than with the empress dowager. "It is a great pleasure and honor to be here." 

"It is indeed, Vicchan." 

"Vicchan?" Viktor echoes in confusion. 

Yuuri freezes in place. He quietly hopes that Hiroko will not elaborate on the name, but then he sees his mother smile gently. 

"I could call you Viktor, but that is more formal." 

Realization glimmers in the alpha's azure eyes. Quickly understanding, he asks with a touch of playfulness, "So is Vicchan a nickname for Viktor?"

Yuuri suddenly exclaims, "Okaasan, we need to check on the children. We will see you tomorrow for tea." The omega drags his alpha away, seizing his arm. 

"Sure, Yuuri. Bring the poodles for tea!" 

"Of course," Viktor replies, cheerfully waving his hand in a goodbye. Smiling gleefully, he says in English, "Why did you never tell me Vicchan was named after me?" 

"It was the first name I thought of, and I couldn't come up with another name, so that was the one I gave to you," the omega explains, his face beet red. 

"Would you call me Vicchan?" 

"I think Vicchan will get confused if I call you Vicchan." 

Slipping through the exit of the ballroom, the alpha nods in thoughtful agreement. "Yes, he would." 

It doesn't take long for them to find the children. All they have to do is follow the voices, and Ekaterina and Artyom are incredibly loud whenever they speak. Anton is quieter, but he knows how to make himself heard. Yuuko sighs in exasperation as the triplets try to fit themselves in the throne of the Emperor. The girls' feet dangle off the side. The empress dowager smiles in amusement as she stands in the corner, watching Ekaterina chase Artyom around. 

To a confused-looking Anton, Kenjirou happily chatters in Japanese, "You should read it! I'll bring a copy of the book to tea tomorrow. It has the most interesting stories you have ever heard of. A collection of stories about myths and legends! Oh, and the sun goddess! We can't forget about her. She has the most important story!" 

"Grandma," Yuuri says, drawing the attention of the empress dowager. "Have you met Anton already?" 

"I have. I'm pleased he already knows a bit of Japanese like a proper prince." 

"In Russia," Viktor informs, "he is the Grand Duke. It is a rank above a prince." 

"He is also a prince of Japan." She points to Ekaterina and Artyom. "Both princess and prince of Japan." At the surprised look on Viktor's face, she says, "Yes, they have not been removed from the line of succession. That would need to be done by the legislature." 

"Why have they not done so?" 

"They aren't guaranteed to be able to stay in the line. If any of them presents as an omega or if Ekaterina presents as anything but an alpha, they are removed from the list without needing any legal action." 

"In the line of succession, Ekaterina would be third, wouldn't she?" 

"Yes," the older omega answers. “There is one other thing I want to discuss.” 

“Yes?” Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“My husband’s death gave me a lot of time to think,” she muses. “I realized that I have no intention of dying before I do a few things. I came up with a list, and I hope you can allow me to visit and stay in Russia for a few months to spend more time with the children.” 

“Grandma, you need to ask?” 

“It is polite to ask,” she says. “If you don’t mind, I would like to travel with you to Russia.” 

"Of course. We will be leaving Hasetsu on the twentieth of September," Viktor informs, smiling beautifully. 

* * *

The time spent in Kyoto, Tokyo, and Hasetsu seems to slip by quickly. Yuuri has forgotten how beautiful the sight of Viktor in a green kimono is, and he is charmed by the surprising slip of Japanese Ekaterina and Artyom occasionally make. Yuuko has taught all of them well. In the blink of an eye, they return to Russia and make a stop in St. Petersburg for the empress dowager to make her introductions to the Tsar and his wife. 

Speaking through a young Japanese diplomat hastily borrowed from the embassy, Yuuri's grandmother serenely offers the Tsar splendid gifts of silk, kimonos, china vases, and a case of sake in the reception hall of the Alexander Palace. She also unnecessarily uses a cane and borrows Yuuri's arm for balance, as if she has trouble walking and is only a frail old woman. "I am pleased with our friendship with Russia and hope for a wonderful future for both of us." 

The Tsar nods, stoic. "Thank you, and I hope it brings mutual benefits. Will you be staying long in St. Petersburg?" 

"Only long enough to sightsee." 

"If you have time, I would be happy to personally drive you around St. Petersburg. Right now, if you wish." 

"That is kind of you, but I think I have enough excitement for today. My poor heart has already been stressed. Do you suppose it is alright for me to sit down for tea?" 

The moment the empress dowager sits down on a sofa in the drawing room, she relaxes slightly and releases the omega's arm. The cane is set against the sofa and slides to the floor with a resounding thunk. 

Before his grandmother can retrieve it, Yuuri bends down and picks up the cane, placing it safely against the wall. "I got it." He then sits next to his grandmother. 

"Thank you." 

The Tsarina swishes in with two handfuls of her cyan dress. Smiling slightly at the empress dowager, she says in English, "It is a great honor to meet you." 

"My grandmother only knows Japanese, so Miss Suzuki will translate for her," Yuuri informs, his head gesturing to the diplomat nervously standing next to the doorway. In Russian, he says, "Miss Suzuki, please sit down." 

"Thank you, Your Highness." 

"Where is Vitya?" The Tsarina inquires, her eyebrow lifting at the sight of the old omega pouring them all tea. 

"He should be back in Kiev by now." Yuuri tries not to fidget. He knows that he should have grabbed the teapot before his grandmother. "He has business to attend to." 

"Thank you," she says, accepting the teacup from the empress dowager. "How do you like Russia so far?" 

"Far colder than I expected. The reception is barely any warmer." 

A true professional, Miss Suzuki leaves out the second part, wisely steering clear. She does it so seamlessly, instantly following up with the translation of the Tsarina's reply. 

"The weather can be quite cold at times. It's best to wear something warm when you're outside." 

"I must use the washroom," the empress dowager announces, once finished with pouring the tea. She holds her hand out for her cane, which Yuuri is quick to fetch. 

The omega tells her in Japanese, "You must exit through those doors and then make a right. It is the third door." 

"Thank you." She holds out her free arm, and a stoic member of the Japanese Imperial Guard steps forward, assisting her. "I won't be long,” she reassures. 

The Tsarina brings the cup to her lips. “How old is she?” 

“In her eighties," the omega lies. His grandmother is actually seventy-two, but if she wants to play a dithering old woman, he'll help her along. 

"But she looks good for her age." Her eyes widen in surprise. “She dares to travel all the way to Russia?” 

“She has lived in seclusion for most of her life. She decided to see something other than Japan before she dies,” Yuuri replies. Taking care not to glance at the door for his grandmother to return, he ends up talking to the Tsarina about their children, about Anastasia's sprained ankle, about the visit to Japan and the enthronement ceremony, and about the latest fashion. He is nearly fainting from boredom when his grandmother finally returns, walking stilted steps. 

"Welcome back. Let me pour you some tea. Your cup has gotten cold." 

She settles on the sofa, smiling serenely as she hands her cane to Yuuri. "Thank you. I hope I didn't take too long." She turns to Yuuri and sighs with melancholy. "To be young and youthful again. I move as fast as a mountain nowadays." 

"Yura tells me you are in your eighties. Tell me, what is the secret to your longevity?" For once, the Tsarina does seem truly interested in the answer. 

"Do not stress, sleep well, and do not dwell too long on your thoughts," the empress dowager says. 

Yuuri doesn't react. He can remember the other advice his grandmother has offered him. Eliminate enemies if possible, ally with enemies one needs, and always question the motives of other people. Discern if there is a hidden agenda. Do not regret anything, and never think too hard about past mistakes unless it's been made again. 

The empress dowager and the Tsarina make small talk, discussing the differences Yuuri's grandmother finds in Russia and Japan. They circle back to the weather, and finally, the omega announces her intention to retire to the hotel. 

"You could stay here in the palace," the Tsarina offers. 

"Thank you, but it is best to not cause trouble to anyone. Everything has been unpacked in the hotel, and it is only ten minutes away."

* * *

Sitting in the backseat with Yuuri and twisting the cane between her legs, the older omega notes, "You told her that I was in my eighties?" 

Miss Yamamoto, one of the many Japanese Imperial Guards sent to escort the empress dowager to Russia, continues driving, her eyes not even reacting to their conversation. Miss Suzuki, on the other hand, lifts her head from her briefcase, puzzled. 

Yuuri doubts the diplomat does know the empress dowager's age, but he says, "I was approximating it." 

"Do I appear as if I'm in my eighties?" 

"No." 

"Seventies?" 

"No," Yuuri answers again. 

"Sixties?"

"Late sixties." 

"Youth will fail on us all," she murmurs with a heavy sigh. "Was I away long in the washroom?" 

“For some time. Should I have helped you in the washroom?” Yuuri tilts his head. “I could have been of some assistance.” 

“Only a bit of difficulty, but Ms. Yamamoto has been a comfort to me. She was kind enough to give me a stomach massage to alleviate the discomfort.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Yamamoto,” Yuuri says. 

“It is no trouble,” she replies, pulling up to the hotel. “I live to serve.” Glancing behind her shoulder, the guard parks the automobile and steps out to open the empress dowager’s door. She and the other guards swarm around the empress dowager, assisting the old woman up the steps as the concierges smile widely and welcome her into the hotel. 

The omega watches her disappear into the building. 

In a dazed look and alone in the automobile with Yuuri, Miss Suzuki asks in Japanese, “Your Imperial Highness, is Her Majesty so free with her language? Should I have fully translated what she said to the Tsarina?” 

Yuuri can see that her translation choice weighs down on the young diplomat. He hesitates and carefully answers, “Her Majesty The Empress Dowager is growing old in her age. She is not quite tactful as she used to be. You did well, Miss Suzuki, to represent Japan in diplomacy, and it is excellent quick thinking on your part. No doubt the Tsarina would have been truly offended by what Her Majesty said.” 

The omega has no doubt that his grandmother had every intention of speaking poorly in the ears of someone who couldn’t understand what she was saying. 

“Thank you for your reassurance.” Miss Suzuki adjusts the briefcase on her lap. She flicks open the double clasps and pulls out a sealed envelope, about the size of a book. Handing it over to the omega, she informs, “My superior, Aiko Nakamura, wants this to be given to you.” 

Recalling that Aiko Nakamura is one of Morooka’s associates, Yuuri accepts it. “Thank you.”

* * *

Yuuri dares not to open the envelope until he is on the train to Kiev. Pretending to be writing in his journal, he slits the envelope in his lap and pulls out its contents. He adjusts his spectacles and counts exactly eight sheets of paper written by the Tsarina’s hand in Russian. He furrows his eyebrows and begins to read. Every single letter is addressed to Grigori Rasputin. 

Some of the letters discuss the Tsarina’s faith in God and her need for strength in the face of her son’s illness. Read as a whole, there is nothing to be concerned about. The Tsarina is far freer with her language and her expression than what she has written to Yuuri. In a moment, Yuuri realizes that Rasputin serves as her confidant. 

But how did Morooka get a hold of their letters? 

He supposes it doesn’t matter. He glances out of the train’s window, pondering. In his lap is something powerful enough to change anything. He flicks through the six letters and examines the wording, searching for something that catches his eye. He reads through one carefully, and in it, he finds the most damning of words. 

Everyone knows of how devout the Tsarina’s faith is. But it won’t matter how devout it truly is when everyone can’t help but think of something worse.

* * *

With the guards walking a little behind them and creating an illusion of privacy, Yuuri walks with his grandmother around the pond in Mariyinsky Palace. The morning sun stretches overhead, casting a gentle glow. He passes by peafowls and statues alike and asks in Japanese, “Why were you hiding in the washroom for so long yesterday? During the audience with the Tsarina?” 

“I was flushing down my socks. It was difficult after the fourth one.” 

Bewildered by the answer, Yuuri opens his mouth and shuts it. He tries again, clearing his throat. “Did you say you were flushing down your socks?” 

“Yes.” 

“That would block the pipes.” 

“Yes.” 

“But why?” 

In a softer voice, the empress dowager informs, “After we left, I am certain that the toilet overflowed, because water couldn't properly go down. It should have provided enough chaos for a few things to slip through unnoticed. You shouldn’t need to worry. I’m certain Morooka has it covered.” 

“Morooka asked you to do something?”

“It was Morooka who asked Yamamoto to create a problem while we were there. I merely helped her along.” She pauses in her step, looking up and smiling at the marble statue of Catherine the Great. "I sometimes think about a fortress. It could be secured and it could be well-defended by soldiers, but none of that matters if there is an undetected hole in its defenses. Anyone could come and go as they please." 

Yuuri nods. "I see." 

"Morooka's father would be so proud if he was still alive to see his son today. He took everything he learned and improvised upon it. He took in students and trained them. He is near irreplaceable." 

A brief moment of silence. 

"Will you be staying long in Kiev?" 

"I think long enough to see this Christmas party everyone keeps talking about." 

He nods again. "And. . . I suppose I want to seek your advice. Is there anything I should be doing to secure my position in the event of seeking a higher position?" 

The older omega resumes walking. "I do not know. Russia is far different than Japan, and it seems odd to me that there is great unrest. In Japan, I was never concerned about the people and whether they may interfere with my doings. I did give some thought to it, and my conclusion is that your husband needs to step up. Otherwise, you will have to wait for your son to grow old enough. Do you have enough support for a coup?" 

"Not among the elites. We are not popular with them. Viktor and I have a lot of influence in Kiev and the surrounding areas, but it is difficult for me to reach into St. Petersburg." 

She hums. "They were clever enough to send you all the way here. Away from Japan, away from St. Petersburg, where you remain out of sight. But it is also an advantage. They can't influence Kiev the same way you can." 

"I know." 

"Do not stress. Good plans take time, patience, and opportunity. I do advise that you make you and your husband better known to the people of St. Petersburg and other major cities, so when the Tsar and the Tsarina become too unpalatable, they will know who to look up to." 

* * *

A week later, Yuuri wakes up to chatter wafting in from the window resting ajar. He finds Viktor's side empty and cold, the alpha having left for the army camp a while ago. He sits up from the bed and uses the bathroom. The omega takes his time to pull on Viktor's grey housecoat and slip his feet into slippers, making his way downstairs for breakfast. 

"Good morning," Yuuko says, patting Anton's head. "Did you read the newspapers?" 

"I only woke up." 

"You will want to read it. Everyone is talking about it." She points to a folded newspaper on Viktor's chair at the head of the dining table. "I can't stop rereading it." 

Paddling over, Yuuri skims the Russian headlines. It is bold and eye-catching in nature. 

**Tsarina's Letter to Rasputin**

The omega scans through the letter. There is no commentary from the newspaper. There is only the full text of the letter itself, the words damning itself. Yuuri's thumb runs over the worst part of the letter, the wonderful sentences doing what Yuuri can't. 

_ “I kiss your hands and lay my head upon your blessed shoulders. All I want is to sleep, sleep forever on your shoulder, in your embrace." _

He doesn’t know how anyone but an artist can compose words like this, words that can change minds and thoughts and rumors alike. Ink stains the omega's hands. He glances back at Yuuko and returns the newspaper to Viktor's chair. In Japanese, he inquires, gesturing to the paper, "Did my husband read this?" 

"He did read it." 

"Did he say anything about it?" 

"No." 

Yuuri is certain the topic will eventually come up in their conversation when Viktor returns. In the meanwhile, the entire empire will do nothing but talk, the rumors about the Tsarina and Rasputin inflamed. He feels a fire settling in the pits of his stomach. Chipping away at the Tsarina takes time and patience. Sooner or later, there will be too little left in her foundation to the point that she will topple and with it, her husband as well. Alexei, with his illness and without his parents' protection, will be easily removed. 

There is no need to kill Alexei when there is no cure for what ails him. An empire as great and large as Russia can't afford a weak Tsar. 

The news even gets to the empress dowager's ears, who doesn't understand Russian. It must have been one of the guards who told her, unable to resist discussing. 

"A scandal," she says in Japanese, pouring tea and sitting in her drawing room of the apartment suite she occupies in the palace. "They call her an adulteress and even ruder names from what I've heard. What a terrible thing the Tsar must feel, to know that an entire empire believes you to be a cuckold." 

"The rumors have always existed before the letter was published in the newspapers," the omega informs, sipping tea from the cup. "For many, this only confirms what they've already known." 

"I wonder who gave the letter to the press." 

"I am certain the police will be investigating that." But Yuuri is not concerned at all. He told Morooka to publish the most ambiguous letter, and he knows that the alpha has sold the letter to the press using his associates as a cover to throw off investigators and prevent them from suspecting a political motive rather than a financial one. 

"The press here is either braver or they have less respect for the Russian monarchy. They wouldn’t dare publicly publish something like this in Japan.” 

“I would say it is less respect, not bravery. Russia’s secret police are better than ours. They are very good at eliminating and exiling persistent enemies.” 

The empress dowager smiles knowingly, bringing a cup of tea to her lips. “It can’t be that good.” A pause. “I enjoyed watching the children while they were having lessons with the governess.” 

“Were they good in class?” Yuuri knows that whenever he attends their lessons, every single student is on their best behavior, a far cry in appearance from what the governess describes them to be. 

“They’re children. Ekaterina is well-behaved, if Yuuko Nishigori’s triplets do not tempt her into trouble.” 

The omega raises an eyebrow at that in disbelief. “Are you certain it is the triplets? It could be Ekaterina herself.” Yuuri thinks of all the trouble that comes up every week. It could be a wall painted with handprints or it could be the once perfectly trimmed bushes missing one facade. One time, they got into Viktor’s office and rearranged some of his paperwork and accounting books until the alpha later learned to keep them under lock and key. 

The other omega inclines her head. “That is a real possibility. It is difficult to know exactly what mischief they come up with when they talk in French in my presence and Japanese in the Russian governess’ ears.” 

The omega sits back on the sofa. “I’ve come to the conclusion that they’re quite intelligent in their age, but I’m glad that Ekaterina is well-behaved and a naturally curious child. She is quick to learn.” 

“To be six years old again,” she muses. “It is a wonderful age to be. Free and easy, not a single burden on their shoulders.” 

“Grandmother, why do you always speak as if you’re about to die?”

“Your grandfather’s death only reminds me of what is inevitable. Live and enjoy every moment." In a softer voice, she adds, "Do not be discouraged if you don't get everything you've always wanted. Know that what you have is already what you need and that is enough." 

"What I have? What do you mean?" He is no closer to the Russian throne than he was when he first arrived in Russia. 

"Three children and a husband who would move the moon for you if he could. From the silly look on his face, I suspect he thinks you've descended from the stars themselves." 

Yuuri flushes at that thought. "But. . ." 

"It is true. Maybe you don't believe it, but he finds it hard to deny you of anything. If you bother to ask." A pause. "But I do want you to be very careful. Last year, I took upon it myself to review the history of the Russian royal family and Russia itself. I was appalled by the constant civil unrest. Catherine the Great had unrest and protests in her time. Even more astounding is that every single Tsar in the last three generations has had an assassination attempt or even a successful one. I have never seen anything like this before. The last time a Japanese Emperor was assassinated was about nine hundred years ago. There are people who loathe the monarchy." 

"I know." 

"I expected so. But at the first sight of danger, of the mob growing irrevocably angry at the monarchy, you need to take all precautions to protect the children and yourself. Do not guess. Triple the guards. If it gets worse, then do not hesitate to flee to Japan. Don't even ask for permission from anyone." 

"I know." 

The older omega rises and walks around the coffee table, her hands reaching forward to cup Yuuri's chin. "My grandson, do not get caught in the crossfire." 


	13. Chapter VI

Days easily traverse with Viktor not even mentioning the major news everyone can't resist talking about. It's strange and ironic that Yuuri holds the thoughts of the Russian people perfectly situated in his palm, yet knows nothing of his husband's opinions. He remembers that Miss Lilia Baranovskaya has briefly scolded Ekaterina for repeating the rumors and reminded the girl that the Tsarina is, after all, her aunt. 

"You will wear a hole in your slippers," Yuuri’s grandmother says, flipping through a Japanese book of poetry. "You can simply ask him instead of speculating to me. What is so difficult about it?" 

"But I'm the one who is responsible. I feel as if I should not bring it up to him." There has never been a topic he and Viktor have not discussed before. Not to Yuuri’s knowledge, at least. 

The omega hums, unimpressed. She flips a page, fingertips trailing down the kanji. "When I was younger than you are, I had no issue with giving your grandfather my sincerest condolences and sympathy when his firstborn tragically passed away." 

"That is different," Yuuri insists, sitting back down on the sofa. "You were expected to say that. This is something else. This is his brother's wife and a large embarrassment at that." 

"If you don't want to bring it up, then I will in the evening. At least that will help satisfy your curiosity and your lack of conviction in this problem." She runs her thumb underneath a line of poetry. "You could have brought it up on the first day the news was published without your husband any wiser." 

"Grandmother." He sighs, but he knows she is right. He expected Viktor to bring up the conversation subject yet he never did, discussing the day with the children.

The omega glances up from her book. "Tell me. Beyond this program, how do you plan to influence St. Petersburg?" 

The omega blinks, surprised by the rapid change in conversation. He draws a cup of tea to his lips and says, "The children are still young, but I plan to bring them for a visit to a few schools in Moscow. It is one of the largest cities in Russia, and I have prepared a letter to the city government to notify them of my interest to expand the program there." 

"That is even more ambitious than Odessa." 

"Yee, it would take a long time for the program to be set up. Everything must be produced and grown in Moscow. Nothing will be transported over great distances except some machinery. Viktor owns some land for hunting in the rural areas that can possibly be used for farmland. We will also need to bring machinery and import equipment. Phichit will have to oversee the entire establishment of the program and is training several new assistants who can serve as administrators when he is traveling or too busy. Unfortunately, it is difficult to find skilled workers who can fix the machinery when it breaks down." 

"How severe is the problem if that happens?" 

"Depends. If they're harvesting, it could cause a lot of issues like a shortage of supply. Children might not have enough to eat for lunch for that day." 

"It is impressive." 

"I am merely taking advantage of the fact that the Russian Empire has the largest supply of agricultural land in the entire world. Surplus is common even during the frequent drought. It is preserved and sometimes sold to the market to help pay for the program's expenditures." 

"You're also reducing your expenses. Has your program become self-sufficient?" 

"No," the omega answers. "I wish, but the cost has grown smaller over the years despite the expansion. Many cities have willingly undertaken the salaries of the cooks working in the school. Every little effort by the community helps the program."

* * *

Yuuri's grandmother refuses Viktor's help as she walks with a cane. "I am not old enough to need your assistance," she says. "Besides, a little exercise will not kill me. Fresh air is good." 

The alpha smiles warmly. "Of course," he agrees in Japanese, his syllables slow and carefully pronounced.

Listening to Viktor speak Japanese makes the omega smile. There is something about the way he talks, the utter care he gives to state every word to perfection. It is ridiculously sweet, and Yuuri can't help but fall more in love with this man. 

"I don't talk with many people here in Russia. At least not outside of family," she pauses, her cane clicking against the ground. "But I can't help but hear about the rumors." 

Yuuri carefully watches his husband out of the corner of his eye, taking his attention off of Anton. 

Viktor's shoulders sag. He runs a hand through wind-swept hair. "I was hoping those rumors would not reach your ears. They're abhorrent and intruding in nature." 

"I am concerned. I do not ask for the details nor do I want to know them, but I'm uncertain about the reactions of Russians. Would there be any problem for my grandson? I heard that Russians would riot when it comes to the monarchy and the problems they believe the Tsar has caused." 

"Riots in Russia are more complicated than that," he explains patiently, tucking his hands behind his back. "The rumors cause much stir among the peasantry. Riots and unrest only happens when there are incredibly severe grievances." 

"Like the miners in Siberia?" 

"Lena Goldfields, yes," the alpha confirms. "That is a severe grievance. One that they rightly have. They stopped protesting in August, but the resentment is still there. It lies dormant." 

"Resentment festers." 

"Yes. It does indeed." 

"It does feel like Russia is a pot of water sitting upon the flame, inches away from being boiled. I speak of this from a foreigner's perspective. Perhaps I'm wrong." 

"I don't believe that you are wrong at all." He pauses and inclines his head in agreement. "I speak of this from a close perspective." 

The older omega turns to Yuuri. "Now, tell me what you think of this?" 

"It is not wrong to long for safe conditions while making a living," the omega answers without hesitation. "The work standards down in the mines are appalling, and I'm surprised how they're so desperate as to accept this kind of work. Before Viktor and I came to Kiev, they allowed children as young as four, as young as Artyom, to work. Some of them had missing fingers and even hands, and it took time to fight the city of Kiev to seriously fine those who violate the child labor laws. The establishment of my program helped a lot of children out of terrible conditions."

"Then what is this program everyone keeps praising?" 

With no shortage of pride, Viktor cheerfully says, "A wonderful program that is unlike any other. I would have never dreamed of anything like this coming into existence. It has gone further beyond the city limits, and I await the day every school in Russia is served by the program." 

She clears her throat. "But what is it?" 

"Ah, da," the alpha murmurs, ducking his head with a quick flush on his face. "Of course, my apologies. I didn't answer your question. Surely, Yuuri would have told you about the program." 

"My grandson is too humble. He cites the efforts of the program's administrators for keeping it running." 

"But it is true," the omega protests with passion. He could have not done it without Phichit and his army of assistants who are paid a handsome salary to do what he says. "I would have nothing if it weren't for them and the farmers." 

"Yuuri should not be afraid of his accomplishments," she declares, stepping around a hobbling peafowl with a splendid blue tail of feathers. "How else will everyone know what he did?" 

"Exactly," Viktor agrees with a serious nod. "A program that feeds the poor children during school should be commemorated. Praised. Remembered. It changes everyone's lives for the better." 

"I get enough praise about the program." 

"It's never enough," the omega's husband declares, grinning widely. He takes Yuuri's hands in his and squeezes them gently. "He deserves everything and more. Grandmother, if I may, can I have a small moment with Yuuri?" 

Without another word, Yuuri's grandmother walks faster, her legs deceptively quick. "Oh, look at my wonderful grandchildren. They're all growing up so fast." She joins Yuuko and the children, all gathered around the pond to feed the fish. 

"A small moment?" The omega raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "One would know we need more than a small moment." 

"There is something I want to show you." Viktor switches back to English, his tone relaxed and natural. 

"What is this something?" 

"It is best if you see it yourself," he replies, not giving away the answer or a hint. He breaks into a carefree run, tugging Yuuri along as they rush by guards and servants alike. He jogs up the stairs and into their bedroom, not even out of a single breath. 

Meanwhile Yuuri has to catch his breath for a few seconds before seeing Viktor reaching underneath their bed to pull out a box. He adjusts his spectacles, puzzled by the neat line of golden metal devices with a flared end at the base. "What is that?" 

"A potential toy for our growing collection. It is sometimes used to plug in all the alpha's seed inside the omega to ensure pregnancy, but there has been a use for the rear end." 

The omega nods, realization hitting him. They brought home some of Catherine's books, some of them still unread and unopened. But several books have been a fantastic source of exploration. Though some of the sex positions and ideas are outlandish, there is still plenty of new material they can actually use. While Yuuri enjoys the rough scratch of Viktor's nails and the brush of his alpha's teeth as the alpha is deeply buried inside him, a little change in the marital routine helps keep life interesting. They have previously run into the concept of a different sort of penetration in Catherine's books, but this plug is the first step towards having Viktor in a new way. He feels a coiled string of nerves and asks, "May I try it on you? To see how it works?"

"Of course, zolotse." 

* * *

They have time to be alone together at night once they've tucked the children into their beds. In the privacy of their bedroom, Yuuri watches his husband retrieve the box of plugs and a bottle of oil from their collection of toys. "Vitya, are you sure you want to try this?" 

"I'm sure," he assures, squeezing the omega's hand. He slips off his slippers and unravels the tie around his housecoat, climbing onto their bed. His silver eyelashes flutter. "Do be gentle with me, zolotse." 

"I will." Yuuri busies himself with the plugs in the box. He takes his time to oil up the toys, wondering if he can truly do this. He only has the books they've borrowed from Catherine's library to serve as a compass, and he is suspicious of their guidance, but the urge to try something new overwhelms him. He turns to Viktor, who perfectly presents his bare bottom with his head resting against the pillow. His aching cock strains in his pajamas at the perfect image before him. 

With shoulder muscles coiling, Viktor stiffens at the touch of the plug against his cheek. 

Yuuri quickly withdraws himself, as if he accidentally shocked his husband. "Are you alright?" 

"I'm fine. It is colder than I expected." 

"I'll warm it up." Furrowing his eyebrows, Yuuri grabs a smaller golden plug from the box and warms the cold metal with the heat of his palms. Noticing the bed shifting, he lifts his head to find his husband laying on his back and watching the omega with a smile playing on his lips. "What is it?" 

"You're so beautiful." 

Yuuri tries not to roll his eyes too hard. Viktor should be looking into a mirror. He hums nonchalantly, knowing it is not a conversation he wants to have. He will never be able to convince that between the two of them, it’s his husband who is more beautiful. He holds up a plug and asks, "You ready?" 

Without saying a word, Viktor grabs a pillow and places it under his bottom. He spreads his legs apart, open and willing and pink. 

The omega begins slowly. An oiled finger traces Viktor’s rim, memorizing the feel of the puckered hole. He slips the tip in, the muscles clenching hard around his finger. “Are you alright?” he calls out. 

“It’s different when it’s,” Viktor pants, missing a breath, “not my finger.” 

Yuuri stills. "You've tried yourself?" 

"Da," the older man confirms, the syllable drawing out upon Yuuri slipping a second finger inside his hole. His voice drops off into a wanton moan, his cock stiffening and rising with interest. A single drop of precum glistens at his slit. 

The omega simply can't contain himself. He plants his face against the alpha’s pelvis and breathes in his husband's familiar musk. His lips wrap around the shaft, teasing the hardened member. 

"Oh, zolotse!" 

When Viktor has stretched enough, Yuuri slips the oiled plug in and grasps its base, slowly sinking it deeper and then withdrawing it with a twist of his wrist. He lavishes more attention on his husband's cock, his tongue tracing a line up the shaft to hungrily catch the leaking droplets of the other man's precum. Wickedly, he swirls his tongue around the head, capturing Viktor's eye with a smoldering look upon his face. 

"Zolotse, I'm going to finish if you keep—” 

The rest of Viktor's words are choked away, lost in awe. 

The omega sits up, his eyes blazing. He possessively growls, without thinking, "Vitya, you can come on this plug or you can come on my cock." 

A pause. Then Viktor is blabbering. "Yes, yes, zolotse. Definitely your cock." 

He tugs out the metal plug and mindlessly drops it back into the box. He parts his legs, reaching for the slick dribbling out of his hole. He rubs his slick over his cock, the scent of slick strengthening and overpowering in the air. 

"Oh, blyad."

He lines up his cock to Viktor's hole, slowly pushing the tip in. He hisses. Viktor is tight, warm, yet yielding around him. He thinks he can come in this very moment, as if he's merely an inexperienced teenager. "Vitya," he moans, his hands finding the other man's hips as he slowly pushes deeper in, his slick easing the way. He fully sheaths, pausing to let the other man adjust. "You alright?" 

"Almost." Azure eyes determinedly capture Yuuri. His voice is hoarse, desperate. "Make me come on your cock, zolotse." 

Yuuri obliges, his rhythm slow. He finds his pace, a strangled cry emerging from his throat as Viktor clenches around his cock and silently eggs the omega on. His fingers dig into his husband's hips, mindlessly chasing his own desire and release. He pants, the slap of skin against skin and the squelch of slick obscene.

"Yuura, harder." 

How could Yuuri resist his husband's request? He pounds into Viktor, on the cusp of his release. He sees a flash of white seed splattering over the alpha's stomach, Viktor clenching and coming on Yuuri's cock. He shakily thrusts in, his back arching from the force of his own orgasm. 

Worn out, he pulls his softening cock out of Viktor’s hole and collapses on top of his alpha. He shuffles his body up, so his nose could bury itself into Viktor's scent gland. 

"Wow!" Viktor sighs, smiling in a daze. His silver hair fans over his forehead, clinging to his sweat. 

Yuuri can agree. He feels the echoes of his orgasm drumming and pulsing through him. He pulls the blanket over them, curling around his husband. 

"We should clean up." 

"One more minute." The omega nuzzles his husband's neck, drinking in the familiar, comforting scent. 

A minute passes by. 

"Yuura?"

"I love you, Vitya," Yuuri whispers, pressing a kiss into the alpha's bare shoulder.

* * *

"Are you certain you don't need me to escort you back to Japan?" Yuuri wonders, watching the Japanese Imperial Guards load up the older omega's suitcases and various purchases and gifts from some of the nicer or more socially polite Russian royals. "It is a long train ride." 

"Exactly. A long train ride where you are needed more in Kiev. Rest assured, my grandson," she pauses, patting the side of his cheek, "I will be fine."

* * *

Out of all his children, Yuuri spends the most time with Artyom, his precious firstborn son and heir and future Tsar of Russia. The boy is now nearing his fifth birthday, and the omega has always been in awe of how fast he has grown since his small size in Yuuri's arms on the day he was born. He sits on the side of the desk in the governess' classroom, helping the young boy write. "Two multiplied by two is what?"

"Four."

"Correct. Two multiplied by three?" Yuuri isn't sure if Artyom truly understands multiplication, but the boy knows simple addition and subtraction. It is never too early to help him start remembering more complex mathematics. 

"Six." 

"Good. What about two multiplied by four?" 

Artyom pauses in his writing, his pencil hovering over the dotted lines designed to help him learn cursive. He sets down the writing utensil and glances towards the wall. "I don't know." 

"It is eight," the omega answers. He takes the writing utensil into his hand and flips the paper over for a blank space. "This is how it works. I'm drawing two rows of your favorite cookies with chocolate in them. There are four columns. Now, you count how many cookies there are."

"One, two, three. . ." The boy reaches eight and turns his head. "There are eight cookies here." 

"Exactly," Yuuri confirms. "Two rows by four columns is the same as multiplying two times four." He draws two more cookies, creating a new column of two with chocolate. "Two by five is what?"

"Nine, ten!" Artyom smiles, his finger dancing over the newly drawn cookies. "It is ten." 

"Good." A clearing of a throat lifts Yuuri's head from the paper. He notices the governess standing in the doorway, having returned from the washroom. "Oh, hello again, Ms. Baranovskaya." 

She nods in return. "Tyoma, have you taken a break yet? You've been working for hours." At the unsure look on the boy's face, she insists, "Please, I need to speak with Yuri Alekseevich in private. Go join your sister in the drawing room with Yuuko." 

"Go ahead," Yuuri says, and it is only then before the boy actually moves. He rises from the floor and asks, "What can I do for you, Ms. Baranovskaya?" 

"You've been working with the boy for the last almost four hours," she notes. 

"Yes?"

"Without stopping. He is eager to please you, but I request that you let him have a break. I know you are eager to let him learn writing, addition, subtraction, science, but he needs time to relax. He will feel better and will be more capable of concentrating. A tired mind is no good for anyone."

The omega thinks over her words, finding no fault in her logic. "I will keep that in mind." 

The governess stoically inquires, "I must ask why you do not personally tutor Katya. You spend much of your time in this room with Tyoma and Antosha. Katya deserves to be tutored as well. She would like to review geography with you." 

Yuuri hums. "I'll consider it." 

The governess steps forward, her eyebrows drawn and her eyes narrowed. "I'll be frank and honest with you, Your Highness. Your favoritism is showing. It is not good for a child's development to know that her brothers are valued more than her. Sooner or later, it will turn into resentment." 

He flushes, and words slip out of his mouth. "How would you know?"

"I had parents who had a similar sort of favoritism, too. And pushing Tyoma in his education will only lead to him burning out." She holds up her hand before Yuuri can say anything else. "You have your own idea of what and who they will be, but they won't be anything you dream of, if you walk down this path. They're only children. They have their own curiosities, passion, and joy. Do not take that away from them." Satisfied with all that she has said, she pivots in a swish of her skirts and exits the classroom. 

* * *

Yuuri has half a mind to fire Ms. Baranovskaya. The words she has spoken cut deeply, but her analysis is correct and flawless. She has seen the way he favors his sons over his daughter. Her prediction is yet to be proven, and the omega has spent hours in the library, thinking back to his early years in regards to his education. Had he ever burnt out when he was taught by a revolving door of teachers? Perhaps Ms. Baranovskaya is correct that the children may burn out if they learn too much in a short period. Yuuri can remember the times he stumbled into a closet, his hands shaking with nerves before tests. 

Very few people dare to speak up against Yuuri. Though the omega is nice to all, voicing another opinion in front of royalty is akin to scandal. Mila does it regularly, unafraid of speaking her unique perspective. Phichit and Yuuko have been Yuuri's friends and employees for years. Morooka is irreplaceable and knows it, and then there is Viktor, who falls over but fights when there is a line. And now there is Ms. Baranovskaya. 

Yuuri cools off, whistling for the dogs and taking them for a walk around the palace's grounds. Vicchan sniffs at roots here and there while Makkachin rolls her tongue out and stares at a swarm of peafowls perched upon the shed. "You can't eat them, Makka." 

The dog continues panting, tail wagging happily. She doesn't seem too bothered by what Yuuri told her. 

He glances up to the top of the trees, as if searching for an answer that may have been grown amongst the leaves. His grandmother would not know the answer. She taught everything she knew to Yuuri's father and to Yuuri himself. Viktor treats every child the same and equally loves them all. It is Yuuri who has prioritized Artyom above all. He thinks about the Russian throne and how closer he has gotten yet is nowhere near close enough. 

He thinks about what his grandmother said, about encouraging Viktor to the throne. He thinks about it long and hard in between the trees and in front of the pond. He knows Viktor as his husband, but what of Viktor as a Tsar? 

In the meantime, he will pull back his efforts on the children's studies and return when they're older. Perhaps he has been too eager for them to learn. He plans to spend an hour with each child every day, including Ekaterina. He must be mindful of Ms. Baranovskaya's watchful eye.

* * *

"You're up early," the alpha comments, pulling on his polished leather boots. "Did I wake you up, zolotse?" 

The omega rubs his eyes. "What time is it?" 

"Nearly six in the morning. You should go back to bed. Sleep a little more. Are you still sore?" 

Yuuri glances at Viktor from underneath his eyelashes. Pitched low, he murmurs, "I'm always a little sore, Vitya." He has an impressive array of bite marks all over his thighs, and he can still feel where Viktor has penetrated him last night. 

"Not too sore? I can get some ointments for you." 

"It is fine, Vitya." The omega puts on his spectacles and blinks. The dim light in the corner allows him to see his husband dressed in his familiar officer's uniform. He wears no medals and possesses no outstanding symbol beyond his rank's insignia. An idea suddenly strikes him, and Yuuri softly asks, "Viktor, can I ask you a question?" 

"Of course." 

"Can I visit the camp one time? I would love to see where you work all day." 

Viktor considers it, nodding. "I think that would be a splendid idea. I can take you and the children to walk around the camp, show you all a few things here and there. I was thinking about bringing Katyusha and Tyoma there." He pauses, “If you don’t have anything too important to do, I can take you there today.” 

Yuuri thinks about it. Other than a quick meeting with Phichit and attending the children’s lesson, he doesn’t have much to do today. He nods. “Let me get dressed and grab a few bites of breakfast.” 

“Pick out a sturdy pair of shoes,” the alpha suggests. “The terrain is not flat.” 

It is strange for Yuuri to be in Viktor's automobile and dressed in his thickest winter coat. In lieu of watching the road and the trolleys filled with workers moving around the streets of Kiev, he stares at his alpha, noting the pink-red hint of a bite mark upon the older man's neck. It takes a long time for him to glance away, no shortage of pleasure and satisfaction strumming in himself. He finally turns his attention away from his husband, noticing the scarcity of buildings, the burnt-out field, and a line of soldiers running around the bend. 

"We are close," the alpha says, stating the obvious. He follows the soldiers, only overtaking them when they notice the automobile's presence and huddle to the side of the road. 

"What are they doing?" Yuuri wonders, his head glancing at the soldiers. They wear far less than Yuuri, unafraid of the chilly weather. 

"They're in the last two weeks here, so they're running for four miles today. Then they go for breakfast, and there is firearms assessment afterwards. We don't have mandatory conscription at the moment, but all of those people? Those are trainees. After they complete the training here, they will be put in for more specialized training or assigned to a specific station, wherever that may be." 

"How long are they being trained for?" 

"About three months." 

Yuuri nods at that. As a Japanese prince once trained and served in the military, he can't help but critically assess what he sees. Neat rows of barracks tucked behind a shadow of trees would typically house the new recruits. He takes note of the soldiers hiding in the trenches. The automobile moves deeper into the camp, allowing Yuuri to look at the waving flag of the Russian Empire on a pole. 

Viktor doesn't stop driving until he finds several other automobiles parked in front of a nicely kept building painted like brown eggshells. He announces, "We are here. This is the main office." 

"Is this where you work?" 

The alpha shakes his head. "My office is on the other side of the camp. It is more secure," he explains, getting out of the automobile and walking over to Yuuri's side to open his door. "We will walk over there later today. Come." 

The omega takes Viktor's offered arm and allows himself to be led into the building. His eyes adjust to the bright bulbs of light, electricity flickering overhead. He tries not to blush or glance away underneath the curious looks of the military bureaucrats. 

"Sir?" A secretary has dared to speak, addressing Viktor. Through the window, she peers at Yuuri's guards. "Should we be concerned about those men?" 

Viktor pauses in his step. "They're my husband's guards. They won't come in except two." 

"Yes, sir," she agrees in Russian, slowly sitting back down at her desk. She looks fairly stunned and mildly afraid by their presence. 

In English, Yuuri muses, "Is my visit bothering people?" 

"It is not you, zolotse. It is your guards. They're unaccustomed to the fact that they're visiting and armed to the teeth with pistols. It makes some a little nervous, but it shouldn't be any trouble." 

Yuuri doesn't dare turn around to acknowledge the two guards walking behind him. "I understand." He pauses, "So where are we going?" 

Viktor shows him to an exit and leads the small group to the communal areas, packed full of scraped wooden tables and chairs in a large clearing. "This is where the trainees spend time playing cards and light gambling after a day of training. Some of the officers bring cheap alcohol and enable the lot. I have no sympathy when some of the trainees drink too much and are feeling quite terrible in the morning when they have to run. It is not too bad for the new recruits. It is only a mile. Even while drunk." 

Yuuri, on the other hand, feels a wave of sympathy. He dislikes running, even in his peak physique as a teenager in training camp. He knows Viktor is a little out of touch when it comes to running. His husband runs a mile every day unless the weather is heavy snow or rain and regularly challenges Yuuri's guards for a run. 

"Come, I'll show you where the officers take attendance." With a hand on the omega's waist, the alpha makes a bend around a nondescript building and stops in front of a pavement area. Viktor seems to stand straighter, his very aura shifted and adjusted to the presence of the trainees all lined up in neat rows and columns. 

Drilling, Yuuri recognizes. The previous Emperor of Japan had adopted many foreign military concepts in an effort to modernize the army, bringing the empire into a new age. Drilling is an important part of training, intended to instill the instinctive sense of military formations in a soldier. 

Viktor doesn't shout any commands or issue any orders when the junior officers call out attendance. He merely observes as the soldiers stare curiously at them. "Come," he finally says, apparently satisfied with what he sees. "Let me show you my office." 

The path to Viktor's office is secluded with trees lending their shadows. They pass by the occasional trainees, who are not afraid of greeting the alpha with a soft smile, a respectful nod, and a few words. Viktor faithfully responds with a small comment or question, always addressing the soldier by rank and name. 

Yuuri finds himself grateful that his husband has warned him of the rough terrain, glad he has taken his most sturdy pair of worn leather boots. 

"You don't oversee the drills?" 

"No, I prefer to oversee running, firearms, and cannons. I don't care too much for drills." Viktor nods to a guard stationed in front of a two-storey building buried behind trees and branches alike. "Good morning, Private Fedorov. A beautiful day, isn't it?" 

"Yes, it is, sir." The guard opens the door, stoically allowing them into the office building. 

“They don’t address you by your royal title?” Yuuri whispers out of curiosity. 

“No, I’m first and foremost an officer.” Once inside, Viktor turns his head to the Japanese guards. In Japanese, he says, "This is as far as you'll go. Beyond this point contains sensitive information. Would you please stay here until we come back?" 

The guards look between each other. Clearing his throat, one asks Yuuri, "Your Highness, what is your order?" 

"Do what he says," the omega answers. 

"Yes, Your Highness." They bow in unison and stay put, ignoring the curious looks shot by the row of secretaries. 

And there, Yuuri follows Viktor deeper into the bowels of the building. Passing by the stray officer walking in the hallways, he asks in English, "So why do you not like drills?" 

"Nicky makes it a requirement so that every soldier knows how to march in a parade. It is nearly useless in an actual battle." 

The omega tilts his head in curiosity. "Why?" 

"I abhor the existence of military parades. Only ever used to show strength and glory. Nicky likes to spend a lot of military funding towards parades. Have you ever seen one?" 

"No, but I have seen one back home." 

Viktor nods, absorbing that information. "Parades are usually held in St. Petersburg, and I would never bother to throw one in Kiev. Let me describe what it looks like. You have several neat lines of soldiers marching in perfect formation, not a step out of place. All dressed in red. Some are on foot, some are on horseback. But do you see why this is impractical during a battle?" 

The omega has never been in an actual battle before, having only analyzed battles from the distance and through history books. He has dictated directions for regiments in the Japanese army. He has read army reports, having never felt the rush of battle nor the brush of death. Without a clue, Yuuri glances down at his shoes. "The ground isn't even?" 

The alpha laughs. "Yes, but there is a better answer. It is the red uniforms. A large cut of funding goes to uniforms that will never serve well during a fight. Red is too visible. It is eye-catching. If Russian soldiers fight in the snow, red is awful. The use of money here is awful. What an appalling waste." He shrugs and adds, climbing the stairs to the third storey, "I do dislike that it takes two weeks to teach the trainees drills when there are better things to learn. What a waste of time."

"Do drills have any use in battle?" 

"Maybe thirty years ago, yes. What I've learned from. . ." The alpha's voice trails off, as if realizing he is about to bring up the topic of the Russo-Japanese War. 

"From Manchuria," the omega prompts. 

"From Manchuria," Viktor echoes. He pauses in front of the door, releasing his grip on the omega. "Wait, you knew?" 

"You're famous. Even in Japan before I'd stepped foot in Russia," Yuuri smoothly lies, his heart skipping a beat. He is not going to admit to Viktor that he read several military reports noting the aptitude and prowess displayed by a colonel in the Imperial Russian Army, who is also the younger brother of the Tsar and the Grand Duke of Russia. 

"A valuable prisoner if we could get our hands on him. Capturing him will deal a blow to the Russian forces in morale and strategy," noted one Japanese officer. This was spoken over nine years ago, and Yuuri can't help but marvel at his memory and the many changes he has seen since then. Viktor, the once enemy of Japan and now a husband to a Japanese prince. The half-hearted plan quickly fell apart when spies found out that the colonel had left for Europe months before the war's end. 

A strange thing, memory is. It seems like barely yesterday when he boarded the ship to Russia, dedicated to fulfill the terms of the treaty, not knowing how drastically his life would change. 

"I hope I'm not famous with a bad reputation in Japan. That would ruin yours." Viktor withdraws a key from his pocket, unlocking the door to his office. He turns the lights on. 

"I think you've been forgiven. The Emperor, my father, likes you, and the Japanese press has reported positively about you. They didn't even mention your part in the war, and I don't fault you for your part in it. I never had." Besides, Viktor has faithfully served his duty and the war was initiated by Japan, an aggressive attack on Port Arthur. 

The older man smiles. "I suppose that is the most important part. That you never had." 

When Viktor draws Yuuri in for a kiss and presses the omega against the doorway shamelessly, Yuuri doesn't even flush in embarrassment at the pointed coughing sound presented by Viktor's assistant, Boris. There is nothing like being interrupted by a wiry, middle-aged man with fidgeting posture. 

"Uh, sir, may I have a moment?" 

The alpha pulls an inch away. "In an hour." With that, he seamlessly pushes Yuuri into the office and shuts the door in Boris' exasperated but resigned face. 

* * *

From the rinkside, Yuuri watches his youngest child skate. He is rapidly approaching his fourth birthday in December, and every day, he seems bigger, his cheeks round and chubby. Though Ekaterina resembles Viktor closely and Artyom with Yuuri, Anton seems to have inherited a mixture of traits. His hair has darkened to a full black, but his eyes are startlingly wide and blue, brimming with wonder and a slight case of nearsightedness. 

Leo had quickly diagnosed the issue, noting that the issue may worsen and that the boy will need spectacles one day. Still, that day is still far away until he begins to see doubles. 

Nevertheless, the issue of sight has never stopped Anton from him putting on his skates and gracefully gliding across the ice. While the boys both love figure skating, it seems Anton has taken his love to the next level. 

"Your Highness, private time is over," informs a rink employee in Russian. "We will begin letting people in." 

"Thank you." Yuuri turns his attention back to his son, watching the boy practice figures on the ice. "Antosha, you're doing good!" 

People begin shuffling in, carrying their skates and rentals. Dressed in bundles of clothing, they notice Anton skating alone and some call out a greeting to the young boy. Yuuri has heard from Yuuko that a few of the older skaters have dared to teach him some spins and promised to show him jumps. 

Whispers begin as soon as they notice Yuuri's presence. The omega can only hear phrases, something that sounds like "His Highness is here" and "that is Yuri Alekseevich, the husband of the Grand Duke." He tries not to react, to not shy away from all the staring. He doesn't usually stay at the rink during public hours, preferring to leave for Artyom's class, but his oldest son and daughter are with Viktor to visit the military training camp for the first time. 

Yuuri keeps his eyes locked upon his son, moving away from the rinkside to the chairs set behind the barrier. He adjusts his winter coat, wrapping the layers tightly around himself as he ignores the attention. He knows it is the novelty of his presence that has them all looking. It is the complete opposite of Anton, who is faithfully here every morning, has befriended the regulars, and is no longer an unusual interesting sight. 

Though it seems that the everyday citizens of Kiev seem satisfied with giving Yuuri and his guards a wide berth, an older woman dressed in a brown shawl and thin coat eventually dares to pluck up her courage and approach him. "Your Highness," she says, her bow awkward and stilted. "May I speak with you?" 

"Of course," he replies in Russian, nodding. He makes no comment as she sits down in a chair, taking care to be close but not too close. He politely inquires, "Does your child skate?" 

"Uh, yes," she says, puzzled. "How did you know?" 

"You're holding their skates. Which one?" 

"The one in the red hat. He is fifteen now," she answers, pointing to a boy by the indoor eatery in the corner. "He insisted on buying ice cream. I don't know. It is already cold enough, and I feel one does not need ice cream in temperatures like these." 

"It is sweet. Children can't resist sugar." 

"My name is Maria Mikhailovna." 

"And mine is Yuri Alekseevich." 

She glances down at her shoes, muffling a laugh. "Your Highness, I doubt there is anyone in Kiev who doesn't know who you are." She raises her head, watching children and young couples join the ice. "I would like to thank you." 

"There is no need for that." 

"But I insist," she quickly adds. "I want to let you know how grateful I am for your program. You have no idea how close my family came to starving. My husband died years ago, and I lost my job as a laundress. All the money went to the rent, and I'd exhausted all avenues of help. It was a terrible time. Pasha and his brother were starting school, and what was served there for lunch was more than anything they've gotten for a single meal. They were able to bring some of the food back home. It was the first real meal I had in days." 

Yuuri doesn't know what to say, feeling uncomfortable by her words. He latches upon the detail about her husband's death. "I'm sorry for your loss." It doesn't feel like everything he should say, but he doesn't know what else to add. 

"It's been years, and maybe the old bastard should have listened to me before he decided to visit his friends in the dead of the night and fall through a rotten staircase, but I do miss him." She huffs at the remnants of an old argument, remembering the memories. She rises from the chair, nodding even as her emerald-colored eyes grow misty. "Thank you for listening, Your Highness." She begins to turn. 

"Are you alright now?" 

"Yes," she confirms. "I got a different job, and my children are growing stronger than I've ever been. What more can I ask for?" With that, she walks away and returns to her son's side. 

Oh, Yuuri can think of so much more he can ask for. But he doesn't voice his opinion and no one asks for it. He returns his attention to his son, smiling even as the boy slips from a spin into a fall. 

With gloved hands, Anton easily picks himself up. 

* * *

"Where is Papa?" Ekaterina asks from her bed, her hand still as it holds a comb in her long silver hair. The seven-year-old peers at the door, as if the alpha will walk in at any moment. 

"We are changing it up today. He will be reading a story to the boys." 

Though Anton has his own room, he chooses to share a room with his brother. They do nearly everything together except skating and studying. They even complain together whenever Yuuri tries to read them a history book. They always beg to hear from British authors such as Charles Dickens and Lewis Carroll. Yuuri can't help but pull the worn books off the shelf, agreeing to a chapter or two. 

"Katyusha, what do you want to read tonight?" 

"Not a book by Charles Dickens. I know you read that to Tyoma and Antosha all the time." Her nose wrinkles in disgust. "How do they not grow bored of it?" 

Settling in the rocking chair by her bed, Yuuri laughs. He does agree with her, and he does indeed tire of hearing the same stories over and over again. "Then what does Papa read to you?" 

"He doesn't read to me anymore. We go over my homework, and he helps me if I get the answer wrong." 

"Do you want me to look over your homework?" 

She nods, biting her lip. "I don't want to get any answers wrong." She retrieves a stack of paper from the nightstand and passes it to the omega. 

Yuuri pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "There is nothing wrong with getting answers incorrect. We all make mistakes." 

"But I want to make no mistakes." 

"Mistakes are to be expected, but I agree. It is good to check our work for errors, to strive towards perfection," the omega says, his eyes scanning through the division sets. Ekaterina is the best student between her and Artyom and even amongst the triplets. Ignoring the existence of his homework, Artyom would rather stick his arm through the balcony pillars and drop things such as feathers, papers, and toys in the name of "science," gleeful about how each object descends to the ground at different speeds. 

Ms. Baranovskaya despairs over him. 

"Perfect," Yuuri declares, running a thumb underneath her math work. "I love how organized you are, Katyusha. If you ever make a mistake here, you can catch it easily by retracing your steps." 

"Do you think it is too much?" 

The omega shakes his head, meeting her bright wide azure eyes. "Not at all. These are good habits to have. Do you have any other homework you want to go over?" 

"I have French grammar." 

"I'm afraid I can't help you there." Even after all the time he spent in the governess' classroom, he still has no head for French. "We can ask Papa later for help." 

She nods. Hesitation stills her, and finally, she asks, "Can we read together?" 

"Of course. What do you want to read?" 

The young girl turns her head to the bookshelf leaning right besides a shut window. As if she can see every title of every book, she runs her eyes over the crafted spines and answers, pointing her finger to a book on the bottom shelf, "I want to read about the French Revolution." 

* * *

The morning of the day Yuuri plans to visit a local school finds the omega palming his face in exasperation as he tries to ignore the squirming boy wrapped around his leg. 

"But I want to go to the rink," Anton protests, tears streaming down his face. "I don't want to go to a school!" He hiccups in between words, his face blotchy and dripping with snot. 

The omega glances to his other children, both dressed in informal attire and shoes. He can take Ekaterina and Artyom, leaving his youngest behind. But he is afraid that Anton may learn to tantrum his way out of everything he hates. He is about to issue his ultimatum when Takeshi suddenly bursts through the grand double doors. 

"Oh, you're still here," he notes, panting with no small amount of relief on his face. "You need to stay here, Your Highnesses. All of you." 

"Takeshi, is there something wrong?" Yuuri tilts his head, worries creasing his eyebrows. He stares past the guard, noticing the other guards with their straight, tensed postures. 

Takeshi glances at the children and then at Anton, who is still crying into Yuuri's leg. Grimacing, he hesitates, "The guards found a timed explosive device in the classroom you were planning to attend." 

* * *

Ekaterina, the oldest, understands the importance of their situation quickly. Yuuri is relieved by that, but it takes no small amount of holding and comfort for him to explain to Anton why they couldn't go outside of the palace. He eventually falls asleep in Yuuri's arms, having thoroughly exhausted himself. 

The question of the explosive device is a matter of patience. The guards have kept Yuuri informed throughout the entire ordeal and chosen to allow the device to explode in an unused storage shed in hopes of drawing out the perpetrators. A guard has volunteered to dress in Yuuri's clothes and borrowed a few of Ekaterina's dolls, arriving at the school in the family's stead. 

In the meanwhile, Ekaterina and Artyom return to their lessons with Ms. Baranovskaya and Anton remains in Yuuri's arms, his tears dry on his cheeks. A telephone call to Viktor nearly has the alpha rushing home before Takeshi grabs the receiver and puts on his calmest voice. 

"Your Highness, I need you to stay at camp. We have the situation handled. We caught the explosive device, and we will let it explode in order to trick the ones responsible into thinking they've successfully used the device and eliminated their targets." He pauses and adds, "We need it to appear that we have not caught the device." Another pause, and Takeshi nods. "Yes, the device has been removed, but as a precaution, we did tell the students and their teacher to temporarily evacuate to a different classroom. We have not found out how His Highness' visit has been leaked, but we will make every effort to find out." 

Forcing his breaths to remain even, Yuuri only speaks once Takeshi ends the call. "Is the situation handled? In your opinion?" 

"For the most part." At the confused look on the omega's face, Takeshi clarifies, "I don't believe it is completely handled until we've eliminated the ones responsible for this." 

It feels like an entire week, but it is merely twenty minutes past nine in the morning when the telephone rings again and informs Takeshi that the device explodes. 

With no small amount of bemusement, Takeshi puts the receiver to his chest and informs, "We believe we've caught all the ones who have been responsible." 

"But?" The omega can hear that there's more. 

"Well, after the device exploded and set the shed on fire, the suspects have came out to stand across the street from the school, admitting to their actions and loudly bragging about their revolutionary act of killing three Grand Dukes and one Grand Duchess of Russia." 

"But?" 

"On the other side of the school are apartments and busy shops. The people there heard what the men said, mobbed them, and proceeded to beat them so badly that all of them are currently unconscious. Leo is attending to them and says that it would be a miracle if some of them survived." 

Yuuri can't believe his ears. "Who," he stumbles, missing a word in his excitement and shock, "who are they?" 

"They call themselves revolutionaries." 

"No, who are the people who beat them up?" 

"Well, they live around the school and evidently didn't appreciate what was said. I think they were peasants." 

* * *

"We're alright. We're alright. We were nowhere near the bomb, Vitya." Yuuri shuts his eyes as his cheeks are peppered with kisses of relief. He can feel how tense his husband is underneath the uniform. 

Viktor doesn't truly relax until evening when all the children have been tucked away for an early night of sleep. Sequestered in his study, he pours a full glass of vodka, which Yuuri knows tastes more like liquid fire than anything else. He shuts his eyes and murmurs, "Nicky sent me a telegram." 

"What did he say?"

"He wants to put the conspirators through a swift execution," the alpha flatly says. 

Yuuri narrows his eyes. "You don't approve of that." A swirl of disappointment settles in the omega's stomach. He wants their heads for what they've tried to do. An execution is what should be done. Treason is always answered with executions. 

"I would rather have them be sent to the work camps in Siberia." 

A flash of anger burns hotly in the omega's chest. Keeping his voice steady, he points out, "Vitya, they were targeting our children. They deserve to die for what they tried to do." 

Viktor rubs his temple. "I know they tried." A pause. "It is one thing to kill another on a battlefield. But executing someone at your mercy? It doesn't feel morally correct." 

"It doesn't matter," Yuuri insists. "If they had another chance, they would take it. It is better to eliminate the threats." 

"They won't have another chance. Siberia is nearly impossible to escape." The alpha downs his entire glass. "Besides, one of the men is paralyzed from the neck down. He will only have a shell of a life now, if he is not executed." 

"They need to be executed." With that final thought, Yuuri straightens and walks out of Viktor's study with hands palming his face. It doesn't matter what Viktor thinks. The authority of the Tsar supersedes what a Grand Duke of Russia thinks. 

* * *

Morooka comes down to Kiev in a week to privately inform Yuuri the finer details of the attempted assassination. Dressed as a diplomat, he dares to enter the palace under a different name. He pulls out several files his associates have compiled on the five men and explains each of their roles. Explaining in Japanese, he says, "They have been planning this for months."

"Why? Why kill me and the children?" Yuuri wonders, skimming through a thick file. "Is it to go after Viktor?" 

"No. It was specifically for you. They don't like what you've done. This is according to the notes they made before this incident. I, unfortunately, can't get an answer out of them." 

It is true. All five men have been beaten to near death, ironically saved by Yuuri's guards who made the arrests. It would take a miracle for most of them to ever walk again. If they recover well, they might regain their ability to speak and write. 

"What have I done? The program? The pressure I put on the city government to change the labor laws?" 

"Yes, but it all comes down to this. You made poverty and peasantry livable." 

"So they wanted me dead, because I was easing suffering?" 

"Exactly." 

Yuuri has half a mind to think they're insane to wish this upon their fellow man, but he recalls the details of a book written by a man named Karl Marx. He remembers how Marx predicted that the suffering working class, who are heavily exploited for their labor with little compensation, will be awoken to the truth about their reality and overthrow the ruling class. Suffering begets awakening, thus bringing forth a revolution. 

"Mr. Chulanont has been excellent at weaving the press," Morooka comments. "Public sympathy is with you." 

The omega knows that Phichit's connection to the Russian press is invaluable. Phichit has created a story based in truth but mixed with lies to underplay the role of the Japanese guards. It is luck that His Highness and his children were not caught in the explosion, the newspapers write. It is a mere chance that Artyom has forgotten his winter coat, delaying their visit by thirty minutes. It is a bad coincidence that the guards were able to catch the perpetrators just on the other side of the street, barely able to prevent them from getting killed by bystanders. 

"I understand that you directed Phichit to paint the roles of the guards in a reactionary role. Shouldn't the press have told the truth?" 

Morooka shrugs. "I don't want the revolutionaries and other assassins to think they have to try very hard to slip by the guards. In the meanwhile, you must be more cautious about these potential threats." 

"Should I stop visiting schools? Public visits?" 

"It does lower your risk if you do that, but it has the unfortunate effect of diminishing your position. You may appear weak to the Russian public, as if you were terribly shaken by the assassination attempt. There is more you must know." 

Yuuri arches an eyebrow. "How much more?" 

"The Okhrana knew of the plot for at least two weeks prior to the incident." 

The omega stiffens, frowning. "I thought you had someone in the Okhrana since Stolypin's death. Wouldn't they have heard of this?" 

The previous Prime Minister of Russia was assassinated over two years ago at a ballet show in the Tsar's very presence. Though the murder was officially pinned on a small group of revolutionaries, Yuuri has always thought the Tsar was behind it. At that time, Stolypin was rapidly losing the Tsar's favor with his wide blanket of policy reforms. The description of the murder scene stirred the omega's suspicions. Why kill Stolypin when the revolutionaries could have cut off the head of the Tsar himself? 

"Our informant only knows matters specific to St. Petersburg, but he took a risk to investigate Kiev's business and discovered that piece of information. Without a doubt, the Okhrana would have had time to inform the Tsar of this plot." 

Yuuri quickly grasps on Morooka's suggestion. "And we both know that without a doubt, the Okhrana is very good at eliminating threats to the crown." 

* * *

Xenia's only daughter, Irène, is to be married to Felix, and, as good friends with Viktor's sister, Yuuri attends the most important wedding in society of 1914. Hosted in Anichkov Palace, the wedding invites all the family and important guests. The omega forces himself to hide his distaste for the Tsar and his wife, choosing to openly celebrate the happiness of the new couple. 

Yuuri has visited this palace twice in his entire life, but he has never seen its church nor its grandest ballroom. Sitting next to Tyotya Maria with an untouched cup of tea in front of him, he says, "So you didn't approve of this match?" 

"Not when I first heard of it. Felix Felixovich is a young man with many rumors following and nipping at his heels. But I do admit that he cares for her, and that is the most important detail. Speaking of him, where is he? He should be here at the rehearsal. His bride is here." 

"You rest," the omega says, gently placing his hand over hers. "Watch my children. I'll look for him." He glances over to Viktor, who is in the midst of a conversation with his uncle but has not taken his eyes off the children. 

"Yura, you don't have to." 

"It is alright. We mustn't let the groom, the important part of the wedding, be forgotten. He must attend the rehearsal." Yuuri steps away from the table and passes by Viktor with a touch to the older man's elbow. "I am going to look for Felix Felixovich." 

Viktor nods. "The children should be fine, but I'll keep an eye on them." 

The omega smiles and then nods at Viktor's uncle. Moving out of the church, he walks through the grand palace, his ears open to listen for the boy's voice. It is remarkable how old the couple are now. It seems only yesterday when Irène was only a young girl, staring down at Ekaterina out of curiosity. Lifting up the ends of his coat, he moves towards the apartments, thinking that Felix may be found there. 

He is, and he is not alone. 

The walls of the apartment are thick, but from the way they're shouting, there might as well not be any walls at all. The omega stills long enough to listen, recognizing the other voice as belonging to Dimitri, Viktor's cousin. There is a third voice Yuuri doesn't recognize at all. 

"Rasputin has been banished from St. Petersburg by the Tsar. He is not coming back." 

"He will be, and you know it," insists Felix. "He only needs one moment to secretly slip into the Tsarina's bedchambers. That is all he needs. He is a dangerous man." 

"You must think carefully about this. We have time, and it is possible that he will never return to St. Petersburg." 

Dimitri's voice softens. "Let me say that if he ever returns to St. Petersburg, I will help whoever wants to put a stop to this man." 

Yuuri straightens and continues, stepping up to the front door. Knocking loudly, he calls out, "Felix Felixovich, you in there?" 

The door opens, and a young man with flushed cheeks and slanted features reveals himself. He is dressed in a black evening suit and purple-blue tie and hastily adjusts his attire. "Ah, I'm here. Did I forget something?" 

"You're wanted at rehearsal." Yuuri peeks into the apartment, noticing Dimitri and Boris innocently standing around. Though it has been years since Boris has seen Yuuri, he still seems to be sour about the omega’s presence. Perhaps he is still hurting over the war with Japan. 

The young man winces. "I knew I was forgetting to do something. Irène must be angry with me. Gentlemen, if we would, we should escort my future uncle back to the rehearsal." 

“Da,” they both agree in unison. 

Yuuri thinks Viktor may be onto something. When he is called uncle by a man in his twenties, he nearly grimaces.

* * *

The twenty-ninth of June is a Monday in 1914. In Kiev, it is a pleasant summer morning with rays of sunlight streaming in through the curtains. The headlines of the newspaper Yuuri holds in his hands sends a jolt of shock through his spine. The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand leaves a heavy thought, a weighed sort of fear, that this could happen to his family, to Viktor or the children. 

Despite the tragic nature of the assassination of Austria’s heir and his wife and the temptation to ignore the happenings, Yuuri keeps his attention on the development of the news over the next few weeks as the investigation of the assassination unfolds. The assassins did not hide the truth of their involvement, admitting guilt to their actions. 

“It is terrible,” Yuuri says, his voice soft as he mentions it over to the dinner table. He is glad that the children do not take notice of his words and that only Viktor pays attention. 

“It is,” Viktor agrees, drinking a gulp from his wine. He pushes back his silver hair and whispers, “I don’t want to alarm you, zolotse, but there are rumors of something happening in Germany.”

“What sort of something?” 

“Germany has agreed a sort of ‘blank cheque’ of support with Austria-Hungary. Or so do the rumors say.” He pauses and sighs, his shoulders slumped. “This is all a terrible affair. I don’t want a war to happen.” 

In Kiev, it feels as though nothing has happened despite the international crisis. Yuuri can’t help but remember the last time an international incident involved Serbia, Austria-Hungary, and Bosnia and wonder if Russia is doomed to follow Serbia into the madness. 

He gets an answer on the twenty-fifth of July, finding Viktor arriving back from camp earlier than usual. At first, he doesn't find it amiss until he notices the drawn expression on his husband's face. "Vitya, what is wrong?" He sets down his tea cup and pours his alpha a fresh cup. "Here, drink this." 

The older man swallows down a sip. "I've been given orders to prepare for mobilization of the army." 

"What," Yuuri flatly says. "No one has even declared war yet. Has any other nation thought to begin war preparations?" It feels as though Russia is jumping ahead of everyone else, setting fuel to a small flame.

"We believe Austria-Hungary has begun preparations. And there is more." 

"More? How much more is there?" 

"They're planning to create a new cavalry division. I'm assigned to take command over the division as the major-general." 

"That is a promotion." 

"Not exactly." 

The omega narrows his eyes, his fingers locked around the handle of the teapot. Viktor is merely a colonel. Being a major-general is a good promotion, but there is a sour look cast across the alpha's face. "Why is it not a promotion?" 

"The soldiers in this planned division have never been formally trained before, and they are," he pauses, searching for a word, "viewed as unsuitable material for the Russian military. They're Muslims." 

"Do you think they're unsuitable?" 

"No, not in that way. It is their lack of training that worries me," he answers. "I question why I've been assigned to this post." 

Yuuri can think of why. An insulting order like that would have to come from someone above Viktor's position, someone like the Tsar or perhaps one of the elites who don't particularly like Viktor. "You'll train them?" 

"Of course." 

"Then you'll train them well. You will train them all so well that this division is the proof of your labor and skill, respected amongst the Russian military," Yuuri says, conviction laced within his words. He rises from his seat, the pot of tea forgotten. "I know you will, Vitya. I have faith in you." He wraps his arms around his husband's back, breathing in the other man's familiar citrusy scent. 

Viktor deeply breathes in. "There is one more thing." 

Yuuri closes his eyes. "Just one more?"

"Just one more," he confirms. "I'm being sent to the war front." 


	14. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a chapter update. But there's a preview of the next chapter in notes. I'll be updated the fic tomorrow.

**_Red Winter: Part 3 (1914-1917)_ **

_ The Great War _

* * *

**The Evening Mail (1867-1924)**

**New York, Monday, August 28, 1916.**

**DATES OF DECLARATIONS OF WAR BY NATION**

> July 28, 1914—Austria declared war on Serbia. 
> 
> Aug. 1—Germany declared war on Russia.
> 
> Aug. 3—Germany declared war on France. 
> 
> Aug. 4—Germany declared war on Belgium. 
> 
> Aug. 6—Austria declared war on Russia. 
> 
> Aug. 7—Montenegro declared war on Austria. 
> 
> Aug. 10—France declared war on Austria. 
> 
> Aug. 12—Montenegro declared war on Germany. 
> 
> Aug. 12—England declared war on Austria. 
> 
> Aug. 23—Japan declared war on Germany. 
> 
> Aug. 25—Austria declared war on Japan. 
> 
> Nov. 5—England declared war on Turkey. 
> 
> May 23, 1915—Italy declared war on Austria. 
> 
> June 3—San Marino declared war on Austria. 
> 
> Aug. 21—Italy declared war on Turkey. 
> 
> Oct. 14—Bulgaria declared war on Serbia. 
> 
> Oct. 15—Serbia declared war on Bulgaria. 
> 
> Oct. 15-19—England, France, Italy, Russia declared war on Bulgaria. 
> 
> March 9, 1916—Germany declared war on Portugal. 
> 
> Aug. 27—Italy declared war on Germany. 
> 
> Aug. 27—Romania declared war on Austria-Hungary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Dates of Declarations of War by Nation.” The Evening Mail, 28 Aug. 1916, https://www.loc.gov/resource/2004540423/1916-08-27/ed-1/?sp=41
> 
> \---
> 
> It is surreal to have Christmas without Viktor by his side as he greets guests. Among the poorer guests, there is a noticeable decrease in men attending the party. Kiev's elites, on the other hand, are all in attendance, unless they're a military officer called into duty like Viktor. Phichit, who has stayed exactly twelve roubles under the budget allowance and has not stopped bragging about it to Yuuko who doubted he could, leads the party into dinner, herding all the children out of the play area and into their seats. 
> 
> There is no empty chair by him, and it feels like there should be. This is where Viktor would sit, if he was here. Turning his head to the children, he says in English, knowing most of the guests wouldn't understand him, "Tyoma, stop throwing food at your sister."


	15. Chapter One

Before leaving Kiev for the front by train, Viktor hands over all of his accounting books and account information to Yuuri. The omega hardly thinks it's right to take the books out of the study, resigned to organize the accounting books at his husband's desk. Viktor has the books organized by alphabetical order. Yuuri keeps them organized by location. The books for collection of rent and the revenue of a couple businesses in Gatchina are kept in one pile. Moscow is its own. Kiev turns into the largest stack and possesses the greatest diversity, ranging from city bonds to the palace's financials to the skating rink. 

Then there is the foreign pile, books that keep track of money and balances in accounts outside of Russia. Yuuri nearly faints at the numbers Viktor invests in foreign companies and foreign government bonds. The numbers Viktor has outside the country are much larger than what Yuuri expected, easily rolling in millions of roubles. 

He won't be touching those, even though Viktor has given him a general permission to move money around. Viktor has a better mind for these things than Yuuri, who can't tell anyone what the company of Procter & Gamble produces. 

For investments, he will let Viktor's army of accountants handle them. For the businesses, refineries, and water companies, he will privately review them to gauge the profits and workers' conditions. He can't afford to have grievances nor major work injuries under his watch. 

He studies the financials of the skating rink, quietly impressed by how Viktor keeps it operating at a profit. The land it's seated on belongs to Viktor, thus needing no payment of rent. The costs of electricity, maintenance, and salaries are covered by the sales of tickets to the public and private skating time bought by wealthier patrons. The indoor eatery has a section, neatly typed with the cost of food supplies and its sales. It has an overall positive revenue that contributes to the rink's profits. 

Yuuri sets the book aside, returning it to its pile. Sometimes, he thinks he has Viktor all figured out, but the man can still surprise him. The omega stares at the leather-bound books and reaches for the ledger of Viktor's personal bank account. 

Like the others, this one is handwritten. But unlike the others, this one is written in Viktor’s hand. He runs his thumb underneath the familiar strokes of messy Russian letters. Viktor writes his purchases in Russian cursive, every letter almost appearing the same to the untrained eye. The omega smiles at the purchase of condoms, the obscene number of shoes bought for Yuuri, and all the lines detailing haute couture suit fittings. He flushes at the number of expensive purchases of sex toys made over the last few years. He should thank Viktor for not writing the exact name, instead using creative euphemisms. A glass dildo becomes "glass sculpture, 6 inches." 

* * *

_ "Still hurting?"  _

_ "Yes." It had been two weeks since Yuuri brought forth Artyom into this world. He knew labor was a painful experience, but every time he looked at Artyom's face seemed to make that memory fade away into nothingness in his mind's eye. "It is mostly my back."  _

_ "Zolotse, I'll rub your back," the alpha promised. He did exactly as he said, sitting cross-legged as he drew circles against the omega's bare skin. His warm touch soothed away the pinpricks of pain and nearly sent Yuuri into sleep.  _

_ But the omega steeled himself. He turned onto his side, pushing up to smile gently at his husband, his face inches away from a kiss. Instead of leaning in as he typically does, he whispered, "Thank you, Vitya."  _

_ "You never need to thank me, zolotse."  _

_ "But good behavior deserves a show of my appreciation," Yuuri purred, his hand slipping down to the other man's pajama bottoms.  _

_ Viktor easily captured the omega's wrists before the younger man could reward him. "Zolotse, I don't want you hurt. You do remember what the doctor said?"  _

_ "Who said anything about penetrative sex?" Before thinking better of it, Yuuri ran a tongue underneath his upper lip and smiled innocently. He would love to get his mouth on the alpha's cock.  _

_ "Yuura," Viktor paused, releasing the omega's wrists. His expression grew solemn. "There is something odd I want to try."  _

_ He quirked up an eyebrow. "Odd?"  _

_ "Maybe it is better if I show you." The alpha tugged at the omega's closest ankle. "May I?"  _

_ Puzzled, Yuuri passed his foot into the alpha's lap, stifling his giggles as a fingernail brushed against his sole. "Vitya!"  _

_ The alpha smiled slightly and began to rub the omega's foot, his fingers following the lines of the foot. "May I have the other one as well?"  _

_ The request was so polite that it caught Yuuri by surprise. "As you wish," the omega answered, fishing out his other foot from the pile of pillows and blankets. He raised an eyebrow at his husband. "All of this asking just to rub my feet?" It wasn't as if Viktor had never done this before.  _

_ "Zolotse, you have no idea," he paused, his azure eyes glimmering wickedly enough to send a shiver down the omega's spine, "what you do to me." With those words, he pressed the largest toe of Yuuri's foot against his straining cock. Then he flushed and said, "It is everything about you, zolotse. I can't help but adore you. Your eyes, your face, your lips, your thighs, your ass, even your feet."  _

_ Putting on an inquisitive expression, Yuuri wondered aloud, "So you don't adore my feet as much as everything else?"  _

_ "No, I love your feet. Very much," Viktor stammered out. "I adore your feet."  _

_ "How much?" The omega pitched his voice low, nearly a purr. He saw the way his husband's eyes dilated, as if falling under an entrancing spell. He freed his right foot from Viktor's grasp and maneuvered it to the waistband of the alpha's pants. It took a little more effort than he expected to drag down the edge to expose the dripping tip of the older man's straining erection. "That much?"  _

_ "This." Viktor shakily inhaled, bringing forth a few more words. "And more."  _

_ The holistic, reverent way Viktor spoke forced Yuuri to pause. Leaning forward, he brought his hand to Viktor's chin and said, "Then let me help, Vitya. I  _ want  _ to help."  _

_ He nodded.  _

_ The omega placed his feet together, wrapping around the exposed shaft. Viktor was very hard between Yuuri's soles, and with a flash of excitement, the omega experimentally squeezed the shaft. It was strange and awkward to use his feet instead of his hands, but Viktor seemed enamoured, precum dripping from his slit. "Guide me, Vitya."  _

_ And Viktor clasped his hands over Yuuri's foot, his cock pulsating under the omega's soles. Silver eyelashes fluttered shut, and the alpha's torso bowed and arched, a gasp locked on his lips. He pushed his cock between the soles and drew it back, taking his pleasure from Yuuri's feet.  _

_ It could have been minutes or hours before Viktor came, seed spluttering as far as the omega's shins. It was impossible for Yuuri to look away from this incredibly beautiful and erotic sight.  _

_ "Thank you, zolotse," he whispered in relief.  _

_ "Vitya, you only need to ask," he managed, his mind whirling. He knew they must try this again some other time.  _

_ The alpha frowned, glancing down at Yuuri's feet. "I left a mess."  _

_ "It's alright. I have a towel and a basin of water on the nightstand," he reassured. He gasped when his husband stooped down to lick his own seed off Yuuri's toe. His heart skipped a beat, and he thought his face shared a close resemblance to a beetroot. He stammered out, "Or you could do that." _

_ The smirk on Viktor was downright sinful. "Oh, zolotse. I want to." _

* * *

The first package from the war front arrives with little fanfare. It comes with four letters inside of it, one for Yuuri and for each of the children. The omega has helped Anton read his, and he has an inkling that Viktor has chosen to discuss the children's day and their schooling rather than his own.  _ Remember to watch your balance while you skate! I want to see how good your skating figures have gotten, Antosha,  _ Viktor wrote. 

The young boy has taken his father's words to heart, eagerly rushing to visit the skating rink every morning while dragging the bleary-eyed Yuri behind him. The blonde omega always appears tired in the morning, but he must not hate the morning routine for he has bought his own customized pair of skates. 

It is after Anton has left for the skating rink when Yuuri disappears into his bedroom to be alone and undisturbed. It has been over a week since Viktor has left Kiev, and by now, Viktor would have been in the front for four days. His first letter written in Galicia has arrived today. With the unopened letter in his hands, Yuuri doesn't know what to expect. He knows that Viktor's primary job is to train the recruits, but he is afraid that the alpha would be sent headway into the battles themselves. 

He lets out a sigh and begins to read. 

_ Dear Yuura,  _

_ From much of what I've heard, there is a general consensus that the war will be swift. This is not only the thought of the ordinary Russian man but also the same thought possessed by many of my fellow officers. The thinkers have taken what they've learned in Manchuria and applied it to our current enemy, the empire of Austria-Hungary.  _

_ Do not believe that this war will be quick. It would be a miracle if the war only lasts for a few months. Prepare yourself for the strains everyone will face when Russia has fully invested everything into the war. Ask Governess Baranovskaya for details of what happened to food prices and public sentiments during Russia's war with Japan. If this war lasts longer than a year, I shudder at the effects the Russian people will feel.  _

_ The first day of training is strange. The men are much more relaxed than the average recruit, but they listen well and that is more than I can ask for. I can't help but look into their faces and know that eight days of training isn't enough. I'm frustrated that I don't have enough time yet I have to push them to be in their best form possible. I’ve gotten to know one recruit who is eighteen years old. Eighteen years old! He is not the only young recruit here. It makes me feel so very old. He hasn't had a mate nor a love or children. He is here, putting his life in danger, and I feel ill at this thought. I don't want to think of how many recruits I will lose.  _

_ It has been four days since I've left Kiev, and I feel homesickness arising in my stomach. I miss you very much, I miss the children and the times they've sneaked into my study to rearrange my bookshelves. I miss your smiles, I miss your laughter, and I miss your warmth and your arms whenever I wake up in the morning.  _

_ Dream of me, zolotse. I'm right by your side.  _

_ Yours, Vitya  _

The omega reads it once. Then twice. He runs a thumb underneath the words he loves most and then returns to the first part of the letter. He remembers what happened in Russia during the Russo-Japanese War. A protest happened in Japan as well, but unlike Japan's, the unrest occurred in a series of protests with resentment and discontent lingering in the public. The food prices, on the other hand, Yuuri knows less of, but perhaps he should indeed ask Ms. Baranovskaya when he is attending her lessons with the children.

* * *

Over dinner, Yuuri tries not to stare at the empty chair. It is difficult to avoid, for Viktor has always sat at the head of the table, the exact opposite side of Yuuri. He listens as the children talk, or rather, he listens to Ekaterina and Artyom talk. Anton, on the other hand, noisily slurps his noodles. He thinks he should tell Anton to quit it and eat more appropriately, but he doesn't feel the will or the conviction to say it. 

In English, Artyom says, "Yuri thinks the war will be over quickly. Austria-Hungary will be easily crushed by the Russian forces. With them, the German army will fall." 

"Don't underestimate the Germans," Ekaterina interjects. 

"Whose side are you supposed to be on?" 

"Father's, of course," the girl answers, upturning her nose. "We can't underestimate Germany. They have a strong economy and have been militarizing for years." 

"But what about France and England? Those two nations would be more than a match for the Germans. They are surrounded from the east by Russia. They're being choked off." 

"They have the empire of Austria-Hungary. We don't know how the war will turn out until they start fighting. Russia has a long way to travel to reach the front." 

"Father got to the front in four days." 

"Kiev is close to the front, and he traveled by train and automobiles. The vast majority of the foot soldiers are someplace else. St. Petersburg, Moscow, Yekaterinburg, the smaller villages. That is thousands of miles for our soldiers to travel, and they can't all possibly arrive in time." Ekaterina sets down her fork, her azure eyes unrelenting in her argument. She turns to Yuuri and asks, "Otou-san, what do you think of the war?" 

The omega nearly raises an eyebrow at their conversation, but he smiles slightly and says, "I think both of you should focus on dinner rather than the war. It does nothing good for anyone if the two of you don't eat. We can talk about the war before bed." 

The war has begun in Belgium with Germany striking the nation's defenses and sending it crumbling within a matter of days with superior artillery. The Germans are attempting to quickly reach France once they've finished sieging Liège of Belgium, and England, through an old treaty, is required to take up arms to defend Belgium. Ekaterina is correct regarding the war when it comes to Russia's involvement. Russia hasn't fully mobilized, but the photographs of Russian armies marching in the newspapers strike faith in the public that Russia will prevail. 

Yuuri doesn't know what to think between public opinion and Viktor's letter. He is reminded of Japan's war with Russia in 1904. The Russians were confident that they could defeat the Japanese forces back then. What are the chances that history may repeat itself? 

Artyom and Ekaterina do not forget Yuuri's promise to discuss the war after dinner, unrelenting in their begging and pestering. Gathered in the boys' bedroom and in their sleeping attire, the children completely ignore the chapter they left off last night. The boys are in their beds while Ekaterina huddles in a blanket on the armchair by the window. Makkachin and Vicchan occupy the lower half of Anton’s bed, but the boy is so small that his feet aren’t even squashed by the dogs’ combined weight. 

"You really want to know what I think about the war?" Yuuri straightens out Artyom's blankets and sheets. 

“Yes,” Ekaterina nods. “Please.” 

“It would be lucky if it’s short and Papa can return to Kiev soon. Unfortunately, we must expect the worst in these unusual circumstances.” Yuuri doesn't want to sound too hopeful, because he finds it the easiest way to be disappointed. At the same time, he doesn't want his children to spend too much time thinking and worrying over the war. He claps his hands together and pastes on a cheerful smile he doesn't feel. "Now, what do we want to read tonight?" 

"Charles Dickens!" Artyom exclaims, nearly bouncing with excitement. "Can we please finish the chapter?" 

"Wars of the Roses, please," Ekaterina answers with an eye roll. 

When the omega doesn't receive a third response, he turns to his youngest child. "Antosha, what do you want to hear?" 

Anton is already fast asleep without a peep. The boy and the dogs all have their eyes shut, sleeping so peacefully that Yuuri nearly wishes to have this moment immortalized in a photograph. 

In a softer voice, Yuuri says, "Because Antosha is asleep, we must be quiet. Now, Tyoma, I read the Dickens yesterday and I think your brother would like to hear the rest of the chapter when he's awake. So we will be reading the history book about the Wars of the Roses." 

Ekaterina straightens in her seat, appearing noticeably pleased. 

Yuuri retrieves the particular book from the nightstand and settles down on the floor in between Ekaterina's chair and Artyom's bed, careful not to disturb his youngest's sleep. He continues where they've left off. The first time he read this book to all of his children, which was merely four days ago, Anton fell asleep four pages in. It was an uninspiring response. 

The Wars of the Roses occured in England during the 15th century. There were several wars during this decades-long period of sporadic fighting between the two "roses." The white rose represented the House of York while the red rose belonged to the House of Lancaster. Both houses were vying for control over the English throne and caused a series of civil wars. Initially, the House of York took control of England, but by the end of the wars and several bloody killings of various members of both houses, the House of Lancaster became victorious and gave rise to the Tudor dynasty. 

"Queen Elizabeth was the best monarch out of the six rulers from the Tudor dynasty," Ekaterina pipes up. "She provided England with stability and a period of peace." 

“Yes, that’s correct, Katyusha.” Glancing over at the clock in the corner, Yuuri folds the corner of the page and shuts the book. "And that is enough for tonight. It's nine, and you must all be getting some sleep." 

Thankfully, Artyom merely needs to head into the bathroom to relieve himself and Ekaterina willingly goes to bed in her room without protest. None of the noises they make wake up Anton, who sometimes sleeps heavily but sometimes lightly as well. He once woke up at five in the morning to the sound of a bird tapping its beak against the window. 

* * *

Viktor writes to Yuuri and the children daily, and Yuuri returns every single letter with a response. He writes about the children's day and lessons, he writes about his day, he writes about the occasional problem that arises. He attempts to keep his letters upbeat, trying not to let his worries about Viktor's life and safety bleed through. 

_ Dear Vitya,  _

_ I'm impressed by how much Anton eats daily yet hardly gains a pound of weight. He practices every single day at the skating rink. Your investment into building a skating rink has paid off tenfold, and not a day goes by where it does not bring a smile to Anton's face.  _

_ Ekaterina is rapidly absorbing the basics of German, and she is eager to learn beyond what Governess Baranovskaya knows. Until we've found someone suitable enough to teach her the German language, I've directed her attention to Ukrainian, which she has remarked to be similar to Russian and deemed as too easy to learn. Still, I hope the challenge is enough to distract her from reading too much of the news about the Western Front.  _

_ Artyom, on the other hand, has not ceased his "experiments" with gravity and has somewhat gained a new topic of interest. He finds the states of matter to be a curious physical phenomenon and is puzzled by how a warm enough temperature can cause ice cream to melt into a liquid. Yet, at the same time, not every object melts. Why not paper, why not stone, why not wood, he asks. It is exasperating for me to find him in the kitchens and playing with ice cubes to watch them melt. Governess Baranovskaya has creatively blended writing and his explorations together. She has presented to him a small notebook today and showed how he can use the book to jot down his observations.  _

_ Today, Phichit has given me permission to use his camera as I wish. Once I've figured out how to use it, I'll begin sending you my favorite photographs I've taken.  _

_ Yuura _

The thing about letters is that Yuuri has written it out several times to ensure every imperfection has been excised. He hates whenever he misses a letter or a word, forced to start over in an attempt to create a perfectly crafted letter without editing marks and errors. But he feels there is something empty in his responses, something that he needs to say that hasn't been written. The idea that he has forgotten to write something important to Viktor bothers him so much that he even stares into the ceiling at night, wondering what he might be sorely lacking.

* * *

"Your Highness?" The voice of a local farmer shakes the omega out of his thoughts. "Is this not a good time?" 

"Sorry," Yuuri instantly apologizes. "These times, so much worry." 

"I understand," she says in Russian, nodding. "My son joined the army. Not under your husband's command, but he is up north. It is terribly far away from home." 

"Too far away from home." 

The farmer, who has introduced herself as Irina earlier, adjusts the positioning of the cup on the coffee table, hesitating to break the silence hanging in the air between them. Then she finally announces, reaching into her pocket to retrieve a folded slip of paper, “On behalf of this list of farmers, I’ve made a request through your assistant for your audience.” She smiles nervously and tucks her dark hair behind her ear, once the Phichit has accepted the list. “Some of us own khutors while others are merely workers. We’ve previously worked with His Imperial Highness Viktor Alexandrovich, who has graciously lent his money over the years at competitive rates for the farmers.” 

Yuuri makes a small mental note to go back to Viktor’s accounting books to confirm that he has indeed done this. He inclines his head and inquires, "But what is your request?" 

"With the war going on and the conscription of many of our best workers into the military, we are concerned that we will be severely unprepared for harvest. At this rate, we will have a shortage of labor and a large pile of crops rotting in the fields by next year. Maybe two years, if we’re lucky." 

"I can't provide labor, if that is what you're asking." 

"I'm not asking about labor. We have observed the fields and farmland that you've obtained to provide food for your program." 

"Yes?" The omega wonders where she is going with this. "What about them?" 

"Your program uses machinery to cultivate and harvest crops on a massive scale, far quicker than what hands and traditional tools can do. The program doesn't require as many hands either. What we're asking for, Your Highness, is for the use of machinery such as the tractor and training regarding these tools." 

Yuuri puts a finger to his chin. "I will think about it. Unfortunately, I do not have an answer for you at this moment, but I will gather one by the end of the week." He dismisses her. "I will have my assistant contact you." 

She nods, seemingly accepting these terms and knowing better than to push her luck. "You have much time to think about this. Thank you, Your Highness." 

Once she leaves with a Japanese guard escorting her out, Phichit finally speaks up from the corner desk. "If the war lasts longer than a year, resources will become scarce across Russia. It will be concerning." 

"We obtained most of the machines from America," Yuuri says. "Are they still manufacturing them?" 

"Yes, and with better, improved models. We can order some to update the program's machinery in Kiev at the very least. We can obtain more tractors. It is unnecessary at the moment, because the machines with the help of the skilled technicians and routine maintenance can still function for years, barring major breakdowns in functionality. " 

"Then order more." 

Phichit scribbles down a few words. He unfolds the list and carefully reads through the names, nodding in recognition as he goes. "Many of these names are rural. A few were worried that the program's farmlands may prove to be an industrial competitor that will sweep their livelihoods away until they realized that it was for the schools and not for the market." 

"Do you think they will need machinery to help with harvest?" 

The assistant admits, "I don't know. I can ask a few of my subordinates to see if they know any better about the situation." 

"Then do." And Yuuri suddenly remembers the letter Viktor had written to him a few days ago and resolves to pluck up the courage to ask Governess Baranovskaya for answers. Perhaps she knows better. 

* * *

"This is not about the children's education?" Governess Baranovskaya raises one smooth eyebrow at the omega. She seems unimpressed yet also relieved. "This is about the war in 1904 and 1905?" 

Yuuri notices she avoids any mention that the war was fought against Japan. "Yes. What happened to food prices during the war?" 

"Increased. There was a massive shortage, and many went hungry until the food prices and production recovered after the war," she answers, her eyes watchful and cautious. "It didn't help that there was a more severe drought that year." 

Yuuri absorbs her explanation. It sounds similar to what Mila had said all those years ago. "Thank you, Ms. Baranovskaya." Without a look back, he strolls away, lost in his thoughts. 

A look into Viktor's files has confirmed that Yuuri's husband does indeed loan money to farmers who apply for it. Some of the names on the list Irina gave Yuuri overlap with Viktor's ledger. Phichit's subordinate is found to be no help in the farmers' problem, citing the drought as the main cause of the high food cost during the Russo-Japanese War and having no opinion regarding farming machinery. Yuuri decides to trust the local initiative of the farmers to ask him for help and doubles the numbers in the purchase order to America. He has suggested the creation of an affordable rental program that could service and train the areas in and around Kiev and delegates the finer details to Phichit. 

He honestly doesn't know what he would do without Phichit. He would probably be as blind and naive and clueless as the Tsarina regarding public sentiments, so confident in her ability to capture the adoring and unconditional love of the Russian people. 

With that problem taken care of, Yuuri returns his full attention back to his responses to Viktor. He sends candid photographs of Makkachin and Vicchan sitting still for once by the pond and a shot of a peafowl sitting gracefully on the roof of the gardeners' shed. Inspiration strikes when he accidentally takes a blurry photograph of his own foot. 

But the timing isn't right with the utter annihilation of the Second Army of Russia at Tannenberg by the Germans in four days. Yuuri is captivated by every word in the newspapers, and he can't avoid listening to the Russian chatter of horror and shock. Thousands of Russian soldiers had been taken prisoner or killed. Before Tannenberg, most thought the war would be quick and the armies of Germany and Austria-Hungary would be steamrolled. 

Yuuri hates how Viktor is proven to be terribly correct in his analysis. Inspired by the actions of the Japanese Red Cross and Tyotya Maria, who donated a sanitary train, he uses the outcome of this battle as a wakeup call and gives Leo supplies and money to train nurses in Kiev. Following his mother-in-law’s footsteps, he also funds the setup of a sanitary train. It doesn't feel enough, but at least he can ensure that there will be someone who has medical experience to oversee the front. He sends out a telegram to his husband, informing of his request to pull soldiers from Viktor's cavalry to be trained. 

Viktor responds with a telegram by the end of the day, informing he will be sending five soldiers to Leo's practice for medical training and more throughout the months. 

In the meanwhile, Japan has formally declared war on Germany on August 23rd and then on Austria-Hungary on August 24th. The omega scratches his head at what the empire can possibly do from halfway across the world other than provide weapons and aid to its allied forces, which includes Russia, England, and France. Mari and other Imperial Navy officers know better than to try a sail around the American continents or around the African continent to pursue a naval mission. 

It seems terrible and socially impolite to write a risqué letter to his husband in these trying times of a major Russian defeat. So Yuuri holds it off and writes about his day, about the children, trying to keep his tone as cheerful as possible. He explains the situation and proposal made by the farmers, to which Viktor has replied back with endless praise of how clever his husband is. 

Despite how little Viktor talks about his efforts in the war, the omega can see how hard it weighs on him. His letters have become a little more sloppy, freely sending out paragraphs that have been crossed out and the occasional grammatical error. Yuuri reads every word, puzzling out each letter behind the slashing lines and wishing that he could reach out to give his husband a reassuring touch. 

Viktor focuses on training the soldiers, his frustrations with the lack of time bleeding through into the letters. 

_ It is not enough time. They don't have enough time. Good soldiers aren't trained in a single day. It takes months and then years of experience to gain true proficiency. We are only throwing lambs to slaughter.  _

The alpha has crossed out these lines, choosing instead to focus on a humorous anecdote about a soldier playing a harmless joke on an egotistical and arrogant officer.  _ He absolutely deserves it for all the headache and nightmares he gave to the trainees, _ Viktor wrote. 

In September, Yuuri discovers how much he loathes to spend a heat alone. He writes out his frustrations of not finding Viktor in his bed in his journal, knowing that he may tempt his husband to return home from the front. He falls deeper in love when, on the second day of his heat alone, a package containing Viktor's scented scarf arrives in Kiev for Yuuri. 

It is in the midst of October when Yuuri has gone through several revisions and written the final copy of the letter he wants to send to his husband. He is almost giddy as he writes his usual letter and concludes with his love. He can't wait to send the improper letter tomorrow, almost wishing he was present at the front just so he could see Viktor's face as he reads it. 

Sitting at his desk, Yuuri reads through it one more time, his cheeks quite warm. 

_ Dear Vitya,  _

_ I write this letter in our bed, surrounded by all of our blankets. I'm far too cold to make a nest, despite the weather not even bearing snow or hail. Your scarf brings me great comfort, though it no longer smells of you. I lift it to my nose, and every time I breathe, I think I catch your scent. It makes me aching and desperate. My heat has receded into the abyss weeks ago, but I can feel the longing as pressing and demanding as always.  _

_ Underneath the layers, I reach for the toy you'd given me last year for Christmas. Despite my aversion to the cold, I wear nothing at all. I slide the toy against my cock and shiver; it's still cold to the touch, but the glass warms quickly. I squeeze my hands around the glass and my cock, wishing that I could put the toy inside of me, but no, I must take my time to savor every tingle of delight.  _

_ I bring the toy to my lips and taste the smooth glass. I wet it, tongue swirling around the diameter and taking care to lubricate it thoroughly. Every sound seems loud, and I try to keep myself quiet. I don't want anyone but you to hear.  _

_ When it enters me at last, I collapse onto my back, thighs parted under the covers. The toy teases me so well, and I picture you here, tugging it out with a wicked smirk on your lips. You would use it to abuse my desire for you, leaving me gaping open in a temporary release. And there, with sweating, shaking thighs, I lay, wet and glistening, for you.  _

_ Love, Yuura _

Yuuri encloses the letter with a photograph of his feet resting on their bed sheets. It would give something to Viktor to think about.

He doesn't know he manages to pass the sealed letter to Phichit without blushing or stammering out his request to mail it. Then there is the whole business about mailing. It is risky to send mail of this nature to Viktor. Things could happen. The train carrying the mail could be destroyed by the enemy combatants. It could be read by the enemy combatants. Or it could be read by some nosy postal worker. 

However, Yuuri finds it in him to not worry about it for a whole day. Let all of Russia see his love for his husband. He doesn't care as long as Viktor knows, even if it's through the newspapers.

Of course, it is at night when he is lying awake in bed and staring at the ceiling, that he feels a crash of embarrassment and regret at sending such a letter. He tries to put it out of his mind, throwing himself into the inner workings of the farming rental program. He knows he is not needed, but he needs something else to focus upon. 

A week later, Yuuri finally receives Viktor's response. Viktor's handwriting is messier than usual, and his words and sentences, written in English, occasionally dabble into hazardous cursive. It is still readable, and Yuuri's stomach flips in delight at the final paragraph. 

_ I've read your letter, and I wished I had opened it in my private quarters. Never before have I run away so quickly from the post with my men staring curiously and wondering if I had a devil nipping at my heels. There is no devil but a beautiful, seductive, ethereal creature whispering into my ear of wicked intentions and carnal temptations. I heard your voice and have forgotten my very name and know nothing but you. What a lucky man I am.  _

Yuuri has never felt more smug in his entire life. 

* * *

After finishing up with the final decisions on the farming program in Kiev and observations of the childrens’ mathematics lessons, Yuuri is escorted by the Japanese guards to Leo’s practice. Displeased with the little time he is given, the doctor has crammed several years of his medical knowledge into three weeks of intensive training. If Yuuri could, he would send Leo to the front to ensure his husband’s health, but the doctor has never wanted to participate in a war zone nor has wanted to leave his new mate, Guang Hong. 

“Finally” is all Phichit has declared on this matter with no shortage of exasperation and fatigue in his sigh. Apparently, they've been dancing around each other for so long that half of the palace's staff have taken to betting on when they will finally exchange mating bites. Many have betted on this year's Christmas. 

"Keep the wound clean and dry," Leo informs in Russian. He touches the shoulder of the patient, a young boy who fell off a tree while playing with his friends. His leg is sprained, not broken. An ugly cut starts at his ankle and ends right below his knee. 

There is beauty in care, Yuuri concludes. The omega has seen the boy brought in, crying and dripping with blood. But ten minutes of Leo's careful attention and precision to detail has the wounds hidden behind bandages and the boy's cries into sniffles.

"Where's the mother?" Leo turns his head around, peering behind his students. 

"I'm here," she says, on the doctor's left. 

"Oh! Make sure he gets plenty of rest and that he stays off that ankle. It is not a serious injury, but he should spend some time away from strenuous activities until his ankle has healed." He smiles kindly and adds, "Thank you for allowing me to demonstrate care to my students." 

"Thank you for your care." 

Once the patient and his mother leave, Leo returns to his lessons, passing around photographs of wounds and trying his best to explain how to treat a bullet wound. He doesn't shy away from the critical areas that may be hit, including the head, heart, stomach, and major arteries. "Survival rates are extremely low if a patient suffers from this type of injury." 

Yuuri waits until the end of Leo's lessons for today to approach some of the students. The omega has taken to quietly observing them, noticing the unusual way they dress and speak. Their Russian sounds strange to Yuuri's ears, though he can understand them all the same. 

Wearing extraordinarily detailed and patterned clothing and an unusual red cap, Erik Grigoryan is a small, short man with dark hair and an impressive beard. "When your husband said I was to travel to Kiev to learn, I thought he was jesting." 

"I worried about the soldiers not getting enough medical care." 

He nods in contemplation. "The closest doctors we have are the ones of the local villages. There is no doctor in the army, but we haven't needed them yet." 

"But you haven't fought either." 

"No. We will need doctors to care for the wounded," Erik agrees, his concern creasing his face. 

Yuuri clears his throat and changes the subject. "What do you think of my husband? As your commanding officer?" 

He pauses in thought. "Strict, knowledgeable. He does care about everyone, you know. One time he saw one of the new arrivals pointing a rifle at someone's head and nearly dismissed him on the spot. It was memorable. He told everyone to never point a rifle or a gun at something you don't want to lose. Then the idiot said it wasn't armed with ammunition, and the general was so angry. I've never known a man who could look so angry. He didn't shout, but you can feel the disappointment at the lack of common sense. He said to treat every gun as if it was loaded." 

"Was he dismissed?" Hearing this story about Viktor nearly brings a smile to the omega's lips. It sounds exactly like what Viktor would say and do. He can nearly imagine it and see it before his eyes. 

"Yes, he was. He was put back on the train." 

"You weren't conscripted, correct?" 

"Yes, that's right." 

"Then why did you join?" 

"I suppose it's to defend Russia." 

The lack of enthusiasm tells Yuuri that it's not the real answer. He shifts the question slightly. "Why did you join my husband's division?" 

"It is prestigious. Viktor Alexandrovich is a good leader. We hear of his stories from men who returned from. . ." His voice drifts away, as if suddenly realizing Yuuri's background. 

"Manchuria." 

"Yes," he weakly agrees. "Yes." He regains his composure. "Everyone knows he treats his men well." 

* * *

Viktor's mass clothing factory on the outskirts of Kiev has been converted into a bandages and plasters manufacturing facility. Though most of the shipments have been sent to where the Russian soldiers are clashing with the Germans, the alpha has written back, informing that they do have a nice stockpile to access in the training camp. Some of the new recruits have garnered mild injuries that needed plasters. 

Yuuri, for one, would never forgive himself for sending minimally trained medics to the front without the tools they need. It is akin to tying a weight around one's foot before they run. 

The days seem terribly long yet it is already the end of October when the Ottomans attack the Russian port cities of Odessa and Sevastopol. Yuuri is particularly concerned with Odessa, but it appears that other than a few Russian prisoners taken by the Ottomans and the sinking of some military and merchant ships, the program would be unaffected by the raid. Russia formally declares war on the Ottoman Empire the next day. 

"I haven't given a thought to the Christmas party," Yuuri admits, sitting at Viktor's desk. Though the omega has taken over it for many hours in a day, he can only think of it as Viktor's seat. "We are still inviting most of the people from last year?" 

"Yes, and the families of those we've hired this year. I wanted to ask for your opinion on seating." Phichit raises an eyebrow. The assistant is massively prepared, as if the party was tomorrow. He could probably throw it tomorrow if Yuuri told him to. 

"I don't usually care for seating." 

"I'm talking about your table. Your table fits ten people, and you always sit with the children, the mayor of Kiev and his wife, and any members of the royal family in attendance." Royal family in attendance references Tyotya Maria and Xenia, if they accept the invitation. "You have one chair open." 

Yuuri doesn't need to ask whose chair that belongs to. He already sees an empty chair at dinner every single night. "No chair." 

"Huh?" 

"Make the table nine chairs." The omega glances out the window, not truly seeing the trees in the distance. "Is there anything else?" 

"Yes, the workers have set up the foundation for the factory in the north. Barring surprise conscriptions, they should be finished by the new year."

Yuuri nods. With the completion of the new factory slated to produce plasters, bandages will be solely made at Viktor's former clothing factory. It will help keep up with the demands of the Russian military, but the omega knows it won't be able to serve all of the millions in the army. 

A small part of Yuuri remembers the tens of thousands of deaths at the Battle of Tannenberg. A small part of him chillingly whispers that he doesn't necessarily need to serve millions. 

"Your sister has sent you a letter through the Japanese embassy," the assistant informs, sliding a sealed envelope across the table. "The return address is from the Marshall Islands." 

"Busy in German territories," he concludes. The Germans, who have obtained the Pacific islands from Spain, have surrendered quite quickly to the Japanese Navy. 

"Former German territories," Phichit corrects. "But yes, she is." 

He vows to read Mari's letter later today. He will have to write a reply to her, and after not receiving a letter from her for weeks, he knows he must include some chiding. After all, it is typical of Yuuri to forget to write a few letters here and there and not respond for weeks on end. It is not typical of Mari to do the same. 

"Morooka has begun to intercept war correspondences between the Russian High Command and the armies on the field," Phichit says. "He has passed a summary of their messages." The assistant slides a thin file across the table, pushing it against Mari's envelope. 

"Did you read it?" 

"No. Do you want me to?" 

The omega thinks about it. Morooka's summaries are succinct and brisk. His associates are great at narrowing down a figurative ocean of information into five or less pages of typed, impersonal writing. "Go ahead."

Phichit takes it back and skims through the report, pages flipping as he goes. He finally hands it back to Yuuri and concludes, "It is bad." 

It is almost as if a shock of electricity shoots through Yuuri's heart. "What do you mean bad?" This is the Russian military. How can it be that bad? 

"You have to read it for yourself."

The omega starts at the very first line. Morooka's report references a few generals and officers Yuuri has never heard of. He recognizes Viktor's uncle, Nikolai the Tall. He has met him a few times in St. Petersburg at the Christmas parties. He takes note at the mention of the Second Army, which was destroyed at the Battle of Tannenberg. It will require time to rebuild its significant force and to be restored to its former self. He nods along to the brief discussion of the total size of the military and plans for conscription throughout Russia. One million men, betas and alphas, make up the armies while there are three more in reserves. It is an impressive, staggering number of bodies, but that is the only good thing in this report. 

The Imperial Air Force possesses aircrafts that are outdated and in need of better equipment, engines, and weapons. Then there are the ground forces. Field officers notably complain about the lack of provisions. There are not enough weapons, clothes, boots to go around. Some are shocked by the drastic number of casualties in their ranks, and Yuuri reads through all this information, looking for any mention about his husband. 

There is none. There probably won't be. Viktor is training the new recruits. It is not close to the battlefields, and he doesn't have to see combat. It would be risky to send a Grand Duke into battle, and Yuuri knows that most of the military officers of royal blood are far away from the most dangerous parts of the Eastern Front. 

That is what he tells himself. 

The door cracks open, and Ekaterina pops her head through the doorway. "Otou-san?" 

Yuuri pastes on a smile. "Yes, Katyusha. Do you need something?" 

"Are you busy?" 

"Not very," the omega lies. "What do you need?" 

"Well, Tyoma finally agreed to watch us play Kriegsspiel. Can we go please play?" 

Yuuri laughs, nodding. "Yes, of course. You will have to give me a minute, but did you choose what map you want to play on?" 

"The border between the United States and Mexico." 

"Alright." He claps his hands together. "I will join you in a minute, Katyusha." 

"One minute," she agrees. 

The door closes. 

"Kriegsspiel?" 

"Viktor taught her how to play. She loves it. She thinks it is more challenging than chess." 

"One day, I think I will see her ordering soldiers around." 

"She thinks she knows what is right and believes she already knows so much about the world, unaware of the fact that she still has so much to learn." Yuuri looks down at the file in his lap, smiling. She will learn in time that it is not wrong to not know everything. 

"A child's innocent arrogance, but she has the intelligence to show for it." 

He glances up at Phichit, a steel sort of resolve settling down in his stomach. "But back to the war. I want you to inform Morooka to send me a copy of every time they mention Viktor in their correspondence. A small mention, an entire report, I don't care. I want to read it." 

The assistant nods, scribbling in his notebook. "Got it. Anything else?" 

The omega thinks about it, pulling off his spectacles and rubbing his temples. Then he demands, "Get me in touch with the arsenal at Tokyo. You will need to contact Minako's assistant to obtain the name of the commanding officer at the arsenal." 

"Understood." 

The omega sets the file on the desk and rubs his eyes. "Now wish me luck at Kriegsspiel." 

* * *

_ Dear Yuuri,  _

_ I've finally written to you at last once the seas have stilled once more. I've been overseeing Japan's acquisition of the Marshall Islands. For the most part, the process has been smooth once the Germans surrendered and handed over to the British. Acquiring the islands was not a challenge compared to what Japan has faced in Manchuria. It is almost a disappointment.  _

_ From what Mother says, not much has changed within Japan. For as far as anyone knows, it is almost as if we are at peace.  _

_ I haven't seen Kenji in almost a month. I wonder how big he has gotten. He sends me letters that stretch on for several pages, and I wonder if he has spent all day writing a letter to me. It is excessive and humorous that he writes as much as he speaks. I have suggested to him that he should write to you as well. You should be soon expecting a letter that may be as long as eleven pages.  _

_ I heard that your husband has gone to the front. I wish him the best of luck that he will find victory wherever he goes.  _

_ Mari  _

* * *

_ At the news that the Imperial Navy attacked Port Arthur, Yuuri revisited his knowledge and thought about every single war the empire fought since he was born. The first war was against China in 1894. It lasted for eight months, and the Chinese military were practically slaughtered by the superior Japanese forces. Thirty thousand Chinese soldiers died in comparison to a little over a thousand Japanese soldiers. Yuuri played a soldier as a young boy, pretending to shoot from a bayonet and dressing up as a Japanese officer. He wasn't aware of the truths about war, about death, about the existence of permanent, irreversible matters.  _

_ The invasion of Taiwan was a rousing success in 1895 with Japan gobbling up territory. The Boxer Rebellion in 1899 was subdued with Italy, United States, England, France, Netherlands, Austria-Hungary, and Russia on the same side.  _

_ The attack on Port Arthur started something completely different. This was an attack upon Russia, a great power. Yuuri already knew this war was going to demand a great deal of Japanese blood.  _

_ "You afraid?" Mari was already dressed in her uniform, her hair tied neatly behind her head. She planned to attend one last dinner with Yuuri and their parents before boarding a gunboat to oversee the naval forces. She clasped her hands behind her back, waiting for Yuuri to enter the dining room.  _

_ "A little," the omega answered truthfully, not moving. "They have more manpower than we do."  _

_ "Their best fleet is in the Mediterranean Sea," she concluded, her eyes narrowed in thought. "It would take time for it to arrive, and if we plan correctly, there won't be anything for that Russian fleet to reinforce." She placed a gentle touch on Yuuri's shoulder. "Do not spend too much time worrying. Time is better spent preparing for war." She walked around the omega, strolling into the dining room.  _

_ She didn't look afraid, despite being stationed close to the front lines.  _

_ Sitting on the floor at the table, Hiroko skimmed through a newspaper. She lifted her eyes and smiled upon Mari. "Are you all packed now?"  _

_ "I am. I'm leaving at dawn in the morning."  _

_ "What about Kenji?" _

_ "He will be staying with his other grandparents."  _

_ Hiroko made no comment about Kenji's age. The newborn wasn't even a week old, and Mari was leaving for the front. All of Japan will know when the newspapers report it, praising Mari for leaving behind her family at home to defeat a great power. It was honorable. It was a sacrifice. It would help morale among the troops and those at home, knowing that their princess was fighting with the soldiers. One of us, as some would say. If the newspapers didn’t report it, Yuuri would twists arms and wrists to make it written.  _

_ Yuuri slipped into the dining room and sat down. He pasted on a smile he didn't feel, apprehension shaking his hands. "So. What is for dinner?"  _

_ "Sake," Toshiya answered, setting down three bottles of the drink on the table. There was probably more in the kitchen. "We will all be drinking to Japan's victory."  _

_ Mari winced. "Otou-san, I am leaving Tokyo in the morning. I will not be suffering in the morning and will be abstaining. I have learned my lessons many times over."  _

_ Unsurprised and undeterred, he turned to Yuuri. "Then you drink for her. It is the right thing to do."  _

_ Yuuri hid a laugh behind the sleeve of his kimono, his nerves finally relaxing. "I don't think it works that way." He shook his head, face beet red, when his father poured him a cup of sake. For the moment, he forgot all about their formidable enemy lying in wait across the sea. _

* * *

A telegram, transmitted through radio waves and wires across the Sea of Japan and the vast land of Russia, connects Yuuri to the arsenal at Tokyo. The omega feels no shortage of headaches when the telegrams are being sent back and forth at a seemingly snail's pace. The officer in command at the arsenal, at first, didn't believe that Yuuri had the authority to purchase weapons on behalf of Viktor until Minako's office sent a telegram. 

Minako herself has also sent a telegram to Yuuri. 

**Colonel Aiso awaiting delivery instructions. Ask about aircrafts.**

Colonel Aiso's telegram informs that Yuuri is allowed to purchase military aircrafts, but the omega nixes the idea. As far as he knows, no one in Viktor's division actually flies an aircraft and no one can deliver it from Japan, unless Yuuri borrows one of the Japanese pilots. He will have to float the idea by his husband when he finishes placing an order for guns. 

An order of four thousand guns by the end of the week proves to be too much for the arsenal. Yuuri wants to tear the colonel's telegram into pieces. 

**Production. 500 rifles, 400 thousand cartridges per day. Please place order within production limit.**

Yuuri rubs at his temples, ignoring the sound of the telegraph tapping away in the corner. He knows Phichit is awaiting for his next message, and he finally says in Japanese, almost as if ordering the Japanese colonel from tens of thousands of miles away, "Tell him to hire and train more workers. Get more machines. Whatever it takes to fulfill the order. Why hasn't the arsenal bothered to expand its manufacturing capabilities? Is it even aware of a war going on?" 

Phichit nods, scribbling down the message. 

Colonel Aiso remains unmoved on the matters of production, informing that he will be starting with a shipment of a thousand rifles and fifty thousand cartridges that will be placed in wooden crates and delivered to Kiev by boat and then train. A boat will drop off the crates at Vladivostok, and the crates will be placed on the Trans-Siberian railway and transferred to smaller railways to reach Kiev. It is Yuuri's responsibility to get the crates to Viktor, whose training camps reside in Galicia. It’s not accessible by rails. 

In Japanese, Phichit inquires, “How are you going to explain this purchase?” 

“War preparations,” the omega answers. "Besides, Viktor says I'm free to use his money as I wish." 

Yuuri will do what it takes to ensure that Viktor has all the supplies he needs to return home. If they’re lucky, the crates will arrive in Kiev in the middle of December. 

* * *

When Lev Kasso, the Minister of Education, dies of natural causes at the end of the year, Yuuri can barely muster up any thought at all in regards to that man's death. He knows Phichit has popped open several bottles of champagne, cheerfully bidding the deceased man a good riddance. Georgi has accepted Phichit's invitation to celebrate along with his wife and the local teachers in one of the palace's many dining rooms. Kasso has been insufferable in life, and many of the teachers, students, and professors at the universities do not miss the man in death. They'd thrown protests and complaints at the man while he was alive. 

Yuuri merely wishes that the next minister would be more understanding, less controlling, and a bore. Other than that, he hardly cares as long as the program is free to run and do as it wishes.

* * *

It is surreal to have Christmas without Viktor by his side as he greets guests. Among the poorer guests, there is a noticeable decrease in men attending the party. Kiev's elites, on the other hand, are all in attendance, unless they're a military officer called into duty like Viktor. Phichit, who has stayed exactly twelve roubles under the budget allowance and has not stopped bragging about it to Yuuko who doubted he could, leads the party into dinner, herding all the children out of the play area and into their seats. 

There is no empty chair by him, and it feels like there should be. This is where Viktor would sit, if he was here. Turning his head to the children, he says in English, knowing most of the guests wouldn't understand him, "Tyoma, stop throwing food at your sister."

"She started it," the boy insists. 

Yuuri can feel the beginning of a headache coming on. "Regardless of who started it, you must behave appropriately at a party. You are a Grand Duke of Russia. Behave like one." He turns his attention to his other children, glancing at Ekaterina with an innocent look on her face and Anton who is too busy plowing through his spiced vegetables with cheer. "That goes for both of you." 

Artyom thankfully doesn't continue throwing grains of rice at Ekaterina. Instead, he shoots one grouchy look at his older sister and resumes eating. 

Dinner continues on uneventfully, though Yuuri has to field thoughts of sympathy from guests who were horrified by the attempted murder earlier this year. He appreciates the sentiments, but it grows old quickly and he would rather not think too much about the incident. Dinner ends, but the line of sympathy does not. 

"Phichit," he calls, finally freeing himself from the city mayor. "Can you watch the children? I need some fresh air." 

"Of course." The assistant rises from his table with a glass of sparkling champagne in his hand. To a guest, he says, "Excuse me, it was nice talking to you." He settles in Yuuri's chair, nodding at the omega. "Don't worry, Yuuri. I’ve got them under my eye." 

"Thanks." Tugging on Viktor's black wool winter coat over his shoulders, the omega quietly slips out of the ballroom. He doesn't know where exactly he is heading, just as long as he finds a quiet place where he is free to keep his mind silent. He passes the hallway with mistletoe pinned at the top of the doorway. He smiles wistfully for a moment and strolls away. 

He turns a corner and pushes the double doors leading to the gardens, ignoring the guards standing stoically. The outside air is chilly, and the trees are barren of leaves, mere shadows under the moonlight. He passes by a statue of Paul the Great overlooking a perennial patch of pink fernleaf peonies. He tightens the coat around himself, wishing that he isn't wearing a classical blue evening dress underneath. It's far too thin for this weather. 

A touch of something cold on Yuuri's nose sends his hand reaching to the tip, finding water. He glances up to the cloudy night sky, finding the moon partially hidden by a slow fall of floating snow. 

It is wonderfully peaceful despite the cold. 

A crack of a twig underneath a foot startles the omega. It must be one of the guests, coming out for fresh air. Without turning around, he politely says, "Are you lost? I can return you to the party." 

The other person huffs, laughing. The voice is masculine, the baritone sounds curling around the omega. "Oh, zolotse, I'm hardly lost. I'm right where I want to be." 

Head sharply whipping, Yuuri's eyes hungrily affix themselves to the very pleasant sight of a silver-haired alpha dressed in a modest Russian military uniform. His legs begin to move without thinking, and his arms are thrown around his alpha's neck. "Vitya," he breathes, relieved and happy and teary. "You're here." He inhales the alpha's scent. Underneath the scent of soot, iron, and gunpowder is the familiar smell of citrus. "Why didn't you write to me that you were coming back?" 

"I didn't know if I would make it back by Christmas." Viktor pulls away, glancing deep into the omega's eyes. "I had to annoy my superior about it, and he finally gave me leave for a week." 

"Only a week?" Yuuri can't even hide the disappointment in his voice. 

"Yes. So I hope you would forgive me for not returning you to the party." Viktor wipes away a tear off Yuuri's cheek. "In fact, I'm hardly letting you out of my sight tonight." 

He smiles. "It's best to not waste any time." 

"Let's get you out of the cold." 


	16. Chapter Two

"Shall I retrieve the children from the party?" Yuuri wonders aloud once they're inside. 

Viktor shakes his head. "Phichit will send them off to bed." 

"Phichit?" He speaks his assistant's name as if he has never heard of that man in his entire life. "Wait, Phichit knew you were returning to Kiev and didn't warn me?" 

"Well, he knew I was trying to return," the alpha corrects. "There was no guarantee I was returning until my supervisor signed off on it. I sent a telegram as soon as I got to the station, so Phichit knew to expect me today. I told him to keep my return a secret." In a softer voice, he adds, "I wanted it to be a surprise." 

"It is a good surprise." 

The two of them dash past stoic guards on their way to the bedroom. Thankfully, they aren't noticed by a single party guest and forced to have a meaningless conversation when Viktor could be eating out Yuuri instead. 

With his hand clasped in the omega's, Viktor drags Yuuri into their bedroom and begins to tug the winter coat off, peppering kisses on the younger man's cheek. "So this is where my favorite coat has gone." 

Yuuri gasps, pushed against a section of the bare wall. Flushing, he bares his neck, allowing his alpha to thoroughly scent him. "Do you want it back?" 

"It looks better on you," he says, smiling. The coat is unceremoniously dropped to the rug. He doesn't seem to even care where it lands as long as it’s off. "I think it looks the best on the floor." 

The omega would have cared about the coat and perhaps insisted on leaving it on an armchair instead, but then Viktor hikes up the omega's dress, pushes aside Yuuri's underwear, and drops to his knees. "Vitya," he moans. He cries out the moment his husband's lips wrap around the omega's cock. It feels intense, as if time has made Yuuri forget the warmth of his husband. His hand finds its way to Viktor's silver hair, strands between his fingers. “Vitya. . .”

Then Viktor pulls back all too soon, rising to his feet and tugging the staggering omega to the bed. 

Yuuri lands on his back, his clothes in disarray. He hurriedly strips each layer off, kicking and throwing the pieces away. Once naked, he flushes at the devoted look on Viktor's face. "Vitya," he whines, briefly wondering if his body has changed since the beginning of the war. "You're staring when you can be doing other things." 

The alpha snaps out of it. "Sorry, zolotse. My memories merely pale in comparison to what I see." Then Viktor reluctantly tears his eyes away, reaching into their nightstand. He frowns at an open box of condoms. "The rubber has gotten dried." 

Yuuri rolls over. "The cap should be in there." Instead of helping, he notes, "You have too many layers on, Vitya." 

The alpha hands the omega the box containing the cervical cap. "Yes, Yuura," he agrees. Reaching up to his collar, he deftly undoes every button and strips out of military tunic. It bears only the insignia of Viktor's rank and nothing else, nearly indistinguishable from any other average soldier on the street. 

The omega thinks it looks great on the floor too. 

Realizing that he should be inserting the cap instead of ogling his husband, the omega parts his legs, pops open the box, and fumbles with the cap. He glances up again when his husband climbs onto their bed, not a single stitch of clothing covering Viktor's bare skin. He can't help but notice a new scar on the shoulder. "Vitya, what happened there?" 

"A small cut from a broken glass bottle." Viktor hovers over the omega, his azure eyes reassuring. "Do not worry about it, zolotse." Then the alpha swoops down, capturing the omega's mouth in a kiss. 

Yuuri's hand gently caresses the scar, and he is relieved to find that Viktor is indeed telling the truth, not even wincing at his touch. The omega sets his worries aside, knowing that, for tonight, Viktor is safe in his arms. 

They roll over until Yuuri is on top, straddling the alpha's waist. Viktor's hardened cock brushes against Yuuri's bottom. 

"You miss me, Vitya?" Yuuri breathes, speaking before he can think better of his words. 

"From the very moment I left." 

"Ya lyublyu tebya," he murmurs, inches away from Viktor's face. 

Viktor's eyes crinkle in a smile. "I love you, too, zolotse." 

Yuuri steals a soft kiss from Viktor. Then he reaches down to guide the alpha's length to his hole, teasing the tip against his lips. 

"Zolotse," he moans. "Don't. . ." His voice drifts away, hips desperately buckling for more friction. "Yuura, please." 

Holding Viktor's length very still, Yuuri whispers, "Don't worry, Vitya. I'll never leave you unsatisfied." Then he slowly maneuvers himself, slick easing the way as Viktor's cock impales the omega's hole. Yuuri's mouth parts. His husband somehow feels bigger than he remembers, stretching the omega in a way he hadn't been for a long time. 

"Yuura, you're so tight around me," he gasps. 

The omega knows why. His hole hasn't been penetrated almost every night since Viktor left for the front, and suddenly, he feels his resolve settling in, roughly and fully taking in Viktor's cock. He stays still, his back muscles quivering. He adores the way he has Viktor below him and firmly inside him, the beginning of a knot already forming. "Vitya?" The omega can feel his wits fading away, a hand grabbing the older man's chin for attention. 

"Zolotse, what do you need?" He asks, his forehead wrinkling as if straining to not move. 

"Vitya," Yuuri pauses, warming his husband's cock, "I better not be able to walk properly tomorrow." 

* * *

Sunlight streams through the curtains. Yuuri tentatively opens his eyes wider, finding arms wrapped tightly around himself. Viktor softly snores in Yuuri's ears, his warm breath brushing by the omega's skin. 

Yuuri smiles and shuts his eyes, despite feeling quite sore with his body littered by marks and one impressive renewed mating bite. The bed isn't as cold as it has been for the last few months. 

* * *

It is far past their usual time for lunch when they finally untangle themselves from bed. Yuuri hardly ever leaves Viktor's side, satisfied with his arm locked in the other man's. He orders Takeshi to bring the automobile to the courtyard and gently pushes away Viktor's affection. 

Yuuri fixes the older man's collar. "You can kiss me later." 

Viktor pouts. "You don't want it?" 

"I do want it, but there is something more important I have to show you," the omega explains. He smiles away at the ceaseless questions from Viktor, not answering what he must show instead of telling in person. "You will like it. I promise." 

Takeshi does not drive them very far. He merely drops them off beyond the small park to where Viktor's shed of automobiles is located. A few automobiles are parked outside underneath a tent. 

Viktor steps out, puzzled. "Zolotse, did you buy me a new automobile?" 

"No," the omega answers. "I did not." He waits for Takeshi to open the side door. "Thank you." 

"No problem," Takeshi says, flicking on the light switch. "The crate we opened two days ago for inspection is still open." 

"Excellent." Yuuri pulls his husband inside, adjusting his eyes to the scene of stacks upon stacks of cuboid wooden crates. Every single crate is neatly stamped with a small flag of Japan on its lid. He moves deeper into the garage, finding the open crate he inspected days ago. He lifts the wooden side, revealing ten Japanese rifles resting side by side. "It is a good thing you returned home yesterday. I had no idea how to deliver them to the front." 

"Yuura, is this what I think it is?" Stunned, Viktor carefully touches the barrel, almost as if in a trance. His head turns sharply to the younger man. "Did you know?" 

"Know what?" 

"We have a rifle shortage." 

"No, I didn’t know," Yuuri lies, knowing it’s Russian military’s secret information. "I know Tyotya Maria set up a sanitary train and everyone is doing something to help with the war effort. I tried doing the same, but I realized that I have connections everyone else doesn't have. It took time to purchase them and cartridges, and I had to go through some obnoxious bureaucracy. . ." Yuuri's voice drifts off, and he fidgets under the look on Viktor's face. "What?" 

"You purchased them with our money?" 

"Yes. Should I have not?" 

Viktor contemplates it. "Sort of." He points to the rifles and says, "I'll want to send a crate to St. Petersburg, so the war ministry can determine if they'll like to purchase them. Which they will." 

"And then?" 

"They'll pull money out of the Treasury. That way, we won't have to spend a single rouble beyond the initial purchase." 

Yuuri smiles. It is quite clever that Viktor limits the amount of funds he needs to spend in the war effort. "There is more?" At the surprise written on his husband’s face, he explains, "The Colonel in charge of producing these rifles has informed me that they are also capable of producing aircrafts. I do not know if the Imperial Army needs them." 

"They do. The ministry will want to see a sample, but this is excellent news." He throws an arm around the omega's neck and peppers kisses om Yuuri's cheek.

Viktor's cheerfulness widens the smile on the omega's face. "Can you bring all of this to the front?" 

"Of course." 

* * *

"What do you think of getting topography lessons for Katyusha?" 

From the rinkside, Yuuri turns his head towards his husband. "I believe she should work on her geography lessons before she works on topography. What brought this on?" 

"She's obsessed with beating me in Kriegsspiel," the alpha answers. 

"You haven't let her win?" 

"I used to. But then she told me it was obvious I wasn't trying and demanded that I give her a better challenge or else she thinks I am insulting her intelligence." In his black winter coat with a grey scarf wrapped around his neck, Viktor claps his hands together. "Brillant, Antosha!" 

Yuuri claps, too. The boy has been demonstrating everything he has learned and improved in the last few months. "How is she at chess?" 

"She never played chess with you?" 

"No, she insists on playing Kriegsspiel with me. I don't let her win either." 

Viktor laughs. "She grew bored of chess. She likes Kriegsspiel. It is more dynamic and more interesting." 

"Papa!" Their oldest son runs up to Viktor's side and tugs at the hem of the winter coat. 

"Yes, Tyoma?" The silver-haired man bends down, stooping to the young boy's height. "What is it?" 

His small notebook, a gift from Governess Baranovskaya and a constant companion, is left open on a blank page. "Look, Papa." He points to the pages, smiling slyly. "It is invisible ink!" 

"Wow, that is amazing," Viktor coos. He nods as the boy demonstrates the ink with a toothpick. "So you read it under heat?" 

"A source of heat and light," Artyom gleefully confirms. "The next time I write a letter to you, Papa, will be invisible. All of it!" 

He laughs, ruffling through the boy's dark hair. "Tyoma, you can't do all of it in invisible ink." 

"Why?" The boy pouts. 

"It will be suspicious," Viktor patiently explains. "If an entire letter is blank and read by someone other than me, they will think there is something more about the blank page. The best way to use invisible ink is on the blank spaces of a written letter. That way, people will read the letter but won't suspect some secret invisible messages." 

"Oh," Artyom says. "Then I will write a letter and write an important invisible message," he declares. 

"Exactly." 

"Papa, do you send secret messages?" 

"Sometimes. But don't worry about it." 

Artyom appears slightly disappointed, but he nods. "Can we have ice cream for dessert?" 

"Only if you eat all of your vegetables." 

The boy's small nose wrinkles. "Fine." 

When the boy returns to the benches, Viktor slowly rises and places his hand on the omega's waist. "I think he will find cryptography to be an intriguing subject." He looks contemplative. 

"Maybe in a few years," the omega tentatively agrees. He is not so keen on the idea. Cryptography isn't something a Tsar needs to know when there will be others who serve the Tsar and know the innermost workings of cryptography. Civil law, military law, government, these are the lessons a future Tsar must understand and know. He can hope that Artyom will mellow out eventually and learn to love these subjects. If not, he will be taking them anyway. He knows a Grand Duke's education in these matters traditionally begin at sixteen, at their coming of age. 

The sound of a sudden stop by the rinkside turns their attention to their youngest child. 

"Papa." 

"Yes, Antosha?" 

"I'm glad it worked." 

"What worked?" 

"Katyusha said Ded Moroz isn't real, but I kept hoping and wishing for you to come back on Christmas and it worked! Did you happen to see him? See Ded Moroz?" 

Viktor gives a pained smile. "Unfortunately, I did not. But his magic is alive and well." 

"I know you have to go back, but I'm going to wish for you to come back for next Christmas. I'll be really good next year, so he will have to bring you back to Kiev. You'll see!" Then Anton skates away, a big grin stretched wide on his face. 

"I feel bad about that," the alpha admits in a smaller voice. "There is no guarantee I will be able to return for next Christmas." 

Having traveled to Great Britain a long time ago, Yuuri had learned about Santa Claus first before knowing the many Slavic fables surrounding Ded Moroz, the Russian version. Ekaterina has long known the truth about fables and fairy tales. She has been suspicious of these tales from the beginning, shrieking out a triumphant "I knew it" when Yuri told her the truth. Yuuri hedges, "There is still a year. Things may change. Your orders may change." 

The omega tries not to think of other outcomes. He knows it's better for Viktor to be in the front and to be fighting on Christmas rather than be forcibly sent home to Kiev. Yuuri is not a believer despite his weekly visits to the church, which is more of a show of necessity as a Grand Duke of Russia. But he may genuinely mean his prayers when he speaks and hopes Viktor is safe and healthy and whole. 

"Perhaps. Let's not ruin Antosha's dreams." 

* * *

Viktor returns to the front, and true to his words, Artyom sends his first letter with an invisible message on the back. Yuuri nearly sighs with exasperation, but he might as well let the boy enjoy himself and his delights. 

"As long as we don't drink on every night Russia has a successful victory, we should have enough alcohol for as long as this war goes on," Phichit says, clad in his pajamas. He shuffles on the stool placed around a kitchen counter, glancing to the meager supply of sake and wine. 

"This is not only Russia's victory. This is Viktor's." Yuuri's hand is clenched around Viktor's telegram, relief still flooding through his ears. In his husband's housecoat, he has spent all evening and three hours into the morning waiting for Viktor's response. Boris, Viktor's assistant, has sent a telegram, informing them that Viktor has taken his men into battle for a town. 

The children and the triplets might have stayed up as well, if Yuuko didn't send them off to bed. 

Yuuko pours herself a glass and then Takeshi's. In Japanese, she asks, "No injuries?"

"No injuries." 

"The most important and best news of all. I had hoped that the war wasn't going to last this long." Takeshi downs his wine glass in a single gulp.

"I think everyone thought the war was going to be short. That the enemy would be quickly defeated by the Russian army," Phichit says, sipping slowly from his glass. "It was nice that Viktor was able to come back for Christmas."

"I worry." Smoothing out the typed telegram on the counter, Yuuri says, "I hate how they've changed his assignment. They pulled him from training the new recruits and gave him orders to fight. To try to advance deeper into Austria-Hungary." 

"Viktor is experienced. He fought before in Manchuria, and he knows what to expect," the assistant points out. With his elbow, he nudges the omega. "Don't think too much about it. Think about what you can do instead to help him." 

Yuuri nods, the nerves residing. "We've almost modified most of the palace according to Leo's specifications?" The plan to turn the palace into a temporary hospital for the soldiers returning from the front has been fine-tuned and evaluated by Yuuri's guards. The palace's wing containing their living quarters and Viktor's office have been blocked off to prevent any wandering pair of feet from leaving or entering. Yuuri does not want Artyom escaping his minders to bother the wounded soldiers, nor does he want any intruders. 

"Almost, we have to remove the valuables from the third storey. The apartments, except for the three you've indicated, have been fully converted," Phichit says. "We can begin hosting patients."

"Leo would be pleased," Yuuko offhandedly comments. "He had to put up a few tents outside of his practice to service the less injured soldiers." 

Takeshi suddenly raises his hand, subtly calling for silence.

Yuuri glances at Phichit, who shrugs. Neither of them heard anything suspicious, but they don't have the honed senses and instincts of Takeshi. 

The guard furrows his eyebrows, quietly rises from his stool, and ducks his head through the open door. "What are you all doing out of bed?" He shakes his head and points out, "It is almost four in the morning." 

Yuuri stumbles out of his seat, skidding across the floor to find all the children in their pajamas. None of them appear guilty for staying up at night, and he's shocked that even Anton is up. "All of you need to return to bed. You have lessons with Ms. Baranovskaya at seven in the morning." 

"But we want to know about Uncle Viktor," one of the triplets says, crossing her arms defensively. "It is only fair we know that he's safe." 

"He is safe," Yuuri confirms. "He sent a telegram informing that he is unharmed." A pause as Yuuri smiles at the sudden cheer from the children and a covered yawn from Anton. "Now all of you must go back to bed."

There's a collective groan. 

* * *

St. Petersburg was renamed Petrograd last year to remove the German-sounding name. In Yuuri's opinion, it hardly matters whether the city is called St. Petersburg or Petrograd when no one could forget that the Tsarina was a German princess. No one bothered changing the city's name when Catherine the Great, a German princess, came into power as the result of a coup. 

With Viktor far away from the safety of Russian civilization, the omega has taken his children and himself to Petrograd to attend the funeral of an old Grand Duke he has met perhaps once or twice in his entire life. Konstantin Konstantinovich was in his fifties when he passed away, shaken by the death of his son in the war. For years, the man has been in poor health, but the news tipped him over the brink. 

As the Russian royal family swell in numbers before the start of the funeral, Yuuri notices that all of them, except for Viktor, are in attendance. Even Nikolai the Tall, Viktor and the Tsar's uncle who serves as the Supreme Commander of the Russian military, is present. 

Viktor's absence is noticed by many. One of Viktor's cousins titters as she inquires of Viktor's presence. "Surely he isn't ill? One would think he would attend the funeral of our beloved Konstantin Konstantinovich. God bless his soul." 

"Vitya is needed at the front. God bless Konstantin Konstantinovich's soul," the omega replies. If he is truthful to himself, Yuuri would want Viktor here as well, safe and sound and away from the Austrian artillery. But his husband remains dedicated and loyal to his military service, believing it to be disgraceful to abandon his men's side while they're in the midst of fighting. "Excuse me, I must go tell my children to behave themselves," he lies, strolling away from her appalling perfumed presence. The omega sits in the same row as his children, far away from the front row. 

In Yuuri's opinion, he would rather be in Kiev than here, but it would be rude to not attend the funeral. He listens quietly to the service, occasionally turning his attention to his children to ensure that they aren't amusing themselves inappropriately. While they were riding on a train to Petrograd, he caught the boys drawing a hideous caricature of the facially scarred conductor and sternly told them to not ridicule people. 

The quiet atmosphere of the funeral lasts until the royal family proceeds into the largest banquet hall for a meal. Chatter slowly returns, though Yuuri does notice the soft sobs emerging from the widow. He turns his gaze away, feeling quite uncomfortable and forcing himself to herd the children into their seats. Yuuri can't bother remembering the names of those who sit at their table. 

Well, he can remember one. Dimitri, who is Viktor's cousin, is seated across from Ekaterina. Though he wears his military uniform, he constantly tugs at the collar, as if the uniform poorly suits him. A far cry from the young boy who cluelessly flirted with Yuuri, a married omega, in front of Viktor, he ignores dessert in favor of holding a conversation with Yuuri. "I don't know how Vitya does it. I don't have a particular taste for battle." 

Choosing his words carefully, the omega replies, "I doubt most people have a taste for the violence prevalent in war." 

He laughs, swirling his wine glass. "I believe when it comes to the defense of a nation, anyone can find it in themselves to taste bitterness." 

"Perhaps," Yuuri hedges. 

He sets down the glass. "Now, tell me. What is it like in Kiev?" 

"Temperatures are warmer. I prefer it there than here, if you would like me to be honest. I dislike the cold." 

"All of Russia is cold. We learn to live through winter. It toughens us," he says. "If you don't learn how to live, you may find yourself becoming a snowdrop." His ears suddenly flush, and he instantly apologizes, "Sorry, that is an incorrect and offensive comparison." 

It's more common for a certain species of flower to be referred to as snowdrops. However, for some Russians, a snowdrop refers to a body frozen during the winter, buried underneath a pile of snow, and found in the melting spring. Not offering any additional commentary, Yuuri inquires, "I haven't been keeping up with anyone since the start of the war. I've been so worried about Vitya. I could hardly think about anything else. What is going on in society?" 

Seizing the opportunity, Dimitri regales the woes of Tyotya Maria while attempting to return to Russia. "Absolutely awful, the Germans." He explains how they'd temporarily detained her in Berlin until she was able to travel to Russia through her birth country, Denmark, and through Finland. 

Yuuri gasps at the right places in the story, politely nodding along. He had heard some of it through the news many months ago, though Tyotya Maria did not decide to inform Yuuri of her ordeal in her letters. 

"Otou-san, can we go play?" Artyom asks, pointing to a gathering of children in the corner. 

"Of course," the omega answers. "Don't wander too far." He watches the boys dash off, Ekaterina staying behind and slowly taking delicate bites out of her dessert. 

Switching his seat to sit on the vacant chair to Yuuri's right and lowering his voice, Dimitri asks, "Have you heard of a man named Grigori Rasputin?" 

The omega nods, returning his attention to Dimitri. "I heard there was a terrible letter written by Sunny to him in the newspapers years ago. Why do you look so dour about this?" 

"No, I'm merely wondering. What have you heard about him?" 

"Not much. I only know of him, because the palace's staff wouldn't stop gossiping instead of working on that day," the omega lies. "He is a monk, correct?" 

"Not even. He is a vagrant. A peasant." He glances around, as if searching for anyone listening in on their conversation. Nodding, he continues, "As Vitya's cousin, I feel extremely compelled to warn you about him. He has taken advantage of several omegas during his. . ." He searches for a word and spits out, "Treatment. If you see him, run the other way. I don't know how the Tsarina could let him near any of her children." 

"You're saying. . ." 

"Yes," he insists. "It is not published in the papers, but I do believe these omegas' words. Promise me that you will do this. For Vitya's sake, especially." 

"Of course." 

Dimitri relaxes, nodding again. "So where are you staying in Petrograd?" 

"Grand Hotel Europe," the omega answers. The omega has been invited to stay with Tyotya Maria, but he feels uncomfortable staying with his mother-in-law without the presence of Viktor. 

"Ah, truly a lovely hotel. Did you know they had electricity before even the Winter Palace?" 

Yuuri smiles. "No, I did not know that." 

"Whoever is in charge of the hotel back then has great foresight. Look at how fast electricity is spreading. It is changing everything as we know it." 

* * *

Though Yuuri longs to return to Kiev, he takes the time to visit the small building temporarily staffed by the Japanese Red Cross. He finds his shoulders relaxing and his nerves fading away. There is something about being in the presence of people who speak his mother tongue and look the same as Yuuri. There's a small wave of homesickness stuck in the omega's throat as he observes the care of Russian soldiers. 

"Your Highness," greets one of the Japanese nurses, who has been introduced by the receptionist as "Machida." "It is a great honor that you've blessed us with your presence." 

"I hope I am not disturbing your care," Yuuri replies in Japanese. He gestures to Ekaterina, whose hand is small enough to wrap her fingers around the omega's index. "This is my daughter, Ekaterina." 

The nurse bows to the silver-haired girl. "Where are your sons?" 

"Lessons." A trip to Petrograd is not enough for Yuuri to put a temporary stop on their education. 

"An education is an important thing. Would you like me to show you around?" 

"If it's no trouble." 

"Not at all," the nurse instantly says, shaking his head. He leads them out of the reception room and away from the soldier surrounded by two nurses. He gestures to a closed room. "In use at the moment, but that contains our x-ray machine. Your Highnesses, do you know what it does?" 

"I've heard that it can see right through flesh and blood. It takes a picture of the bone, so doctors can check for broken bones, bullets, and other such problems," Yuuri says, following the nurse down the hall. 

"Yes, it does all of that. There is a woman on the Western Front, who managed to get the machines mobilized so that injured soldiers can be treated right away. Most x-ray machines are stationary, but she put them on automobiles. They're calling the automobiles 'Little Curies.' It is an achievement for medicine." 

"And it saves lives." 

"Indeed," the nurse agrees. He points to a room filled with boxes. "Our supplies." Another closed door is labeled as "operating room, currently occupied." Finally, the nurse passes by patient rooms filled with three or more injured soldiers in a closeted space. He pushes through a door, leading Yuuri and his small group outside into the field by the building. "We quickly ran out of space and had to set up tents for more patients." 

Yuuri’s heart crawls to his throat, stunned by the masses of patients. "This can't possibly be successfully covered by a squad of one surgeon and twenty nurses." The omega pauses in his step, fixing his spectacles. The line of tents seem to stretch as far as the omega can see. 

"No, we couldn't provide adequate care to all of them, if it wasn't for the support of international doctors and nurses. Some Americans showed up to help. They speak only five words of Russian and have to communicate through someone who can speak English and Russian." 

"How long have you been a nurse?" 

The nurse thinks about it. "About fifteen years." 

"You worked under the Red Cross during the war against Russia?" 

"I have. I have a somewhat fluent understanding of the Russian language. It was why I was assigned to Petrograd rather than Paris." At the sound of his name being called by one of the soldiers, the nurse quickly switches to flawless Russian, asking after a leg injury. Then he returns to Yuuri's side after two minutes, flushing. "I apologize." 

"No, we understand. Patient care is more important," the omega assures. 

Machida nods, perhaps relieved. He perks up upon noticing a figure in the distance. Switching to English, he raises his voice. "Giacometti, do you have a moment?" 

A blonde man glances up from his notepad. He adjusts his eyeglasses and pulls out his pocket watch for a brief glance. "Machida, my friend. I have a few minutes to spare. What do you need?" 

"Their Highnesses, Prince Yuuri and Princess Ekaterina, are here visiting our hospital. Would you mind answering some of their questions?" 

The man's neck seems to twist hard when he turns his head to glance at Yuuri first and then Ekaterina. After a moment of hesitation, he nods. "It wouldn't be a problem if you check on Sergei Ivanov for me?" 

"Not a problem at all." The nurse hurries away. 

"He said Giacometti?" Yuuri accepts the other man's handshake. The name sounds familiar, a niggling thought probing the omega's head. 

"It is actually Dr. Chris Giacometti," Chris says, pasting on a polite smile. "Michida loves calling everyone by their surnames. It does get confusing when no one understands if he is referring to me or my husband." He bends slightly, offering his hand for a shake to Ekaterina. "Good afternoon, Your Highness." 

The girl softly giggles, charmed. 

"You both wouldn't happen to be from Switzerland?" Yuuri asks, his expression turned blank. 

Chris releases an uneasy laugh, rising to his full height and confirming Yuuri's suspicions. "I suppose rumors in Russia travel far and wide."

"I hardly pay any attention to rumors, but I do listen to any rumors mentioning my husband." Yuuri can't help but critically examine the other omega, noticing the easy allure he possesses to the man's pouty lips. Perhaps it has been many years since Viktor was involved with Chris, but as far as he knows, the two of them may still correspond through letters. An irrational wave of jealousy chokes at Yuuri's throat. 

"I find rumors tend to have some truth in them, but the many mouths it has passed along the way tends to add embellishments. If you have time, I wouldn't mind clearing the air." 

Yuuri narrows his eyes, but then the other man does seem genuine. Tentatively, he agrees, "If you have time, I will be free tomorrow for lunch at the restaurant located in Grand Hotel Europe. Twelve o'clock sharp." 

* * *

On the way to the Japanese Embassy, Yuuri spies a charred building. Pedestrians occasionally pass by it, but no one seems to care for its sad, ruined appearance. "What happened there?" It is strange to see the remains of a building unattended in these areas of Petrograd. 

"What remains of the German Embassy," a guard replies.

* * *

Yuuri sips tea while waiting in Morooka's office located on the top floor of the Japanese Embassy. Ekaterina has been sent back to the hotel with her guards. The omega has not forgotten about her mathematics lessons with Governess Baranovskaya, ignoring Ekaterina's hopeful look. With his free hand, he flips through the pages of the newspaper resting on his lap. 

The door opens slowly. Morooka respectfully greets, "Your Highness." 

"Is Viktor no longer receiving letters from Giacometti?" 

Shutting the door behind him, Morooka moves to sit down at his desk. "They've grown less frequent. I believe there are three letters sent this year. Two letters have been sent from Giacometti. None of them were alarming in nature nor met the threshold for your order. Is there something wrong?" His expression is stoic. 

"Giacometti is in Petrograd, assisting the Japanese Red Cross." 

"You've met him then. His husband and their daughter are here as well. The last letter written to Viktor did not inform the Grand Duke of their intention to volunteer time." 

Yuuri is taken aback. "Viktor does not know they're here in Russia." 

"As far as I know, no." 

"But you did not inform me that he would be coming to Russia." 

"He wasn't anywhere in the vicinity of the Grand Duke or Kiev. Given your order regarding their letters, my associates have elected not to inform you," the other man explains. 

The omega's shoulders relax. "Have you discovered any new developments in the High Command?" Yuuri has found Morooka's findings to be enlightening. The Russian military is led primarily by two factions vying for control. Morooka, and Yuuri is inclined to agree, believes that they hate each other more than they hate Germany and Austria-Hungary. 

"General Nikolai will soon be replaced by the Tsar himself as the Supreme Commander. A boost of morale for the Russian troops in retreat is the official explanation." 

"And the unofficial?" Yuuri prompts. 

"The Tsar has the same aspirations as Napoleon Bonaparte but none of the experience. He is thinking about expanding Russian territory across Europe. That is our conclusion." Morooka clears his throat. "We've discovered some other bits of information. Not useful in particular, but you may find it somewhat interesting." 

Yuuri sets down his tea. "I'd like to hear it." 

Morooka retrieves a folder from a stack. "Rasputin claims that if the Tsar takes command of the military, Russia will achieve victory. He encouraged the Tsar to do so." 

The omega ponders that claim. "Did the Tsar have to leave Petrograd to be the Supreme Commander?" 

"Yes." 

"Rasputin seems to be a man who knows a person's desires," the omega muses. "What else have you found?" 

"We've long known that roads in Poland are kept in poor conditions by the Tsarist government, but the motive behind this is because they're afraid that the Germans may use these roads to invade Russia." 

"That is ironic considering the Russians are trying to use these roads to invade Germany. Is there anything else?" 

"The Tsarina will be left in control of the government once the Tsar leaves Petrograd. Without a doubt, Rasputin will be quick to whisper into her ear." 

Yuuri wrinkles his nose. It is far too easy to cast a shadow of impropriety when the Tsarina seems to have no shame when it comes to a monk. "In your opinion, do you believe Rasputin is a threat to me?" 

"Not directly. He does not strike me as a man who would cause lethal harm to others. He is actually against the death penalty. However, without a doubt, he is a noose tightening around the Tsar and the Tsarina's necks." Morooka flips to a page in the folder. "There is more about Rasputin. The Russian secret police have been following and meticulously detailing Rasputin's exploits. The drinking, the odd rituals, the orgies. They have photographic evidence of it all." 

Yuuri lifts his eyes, carefully watching Morooka's expression. The man is stoic and professional, not even bothering to use euphemisms for Rasputin's deeds. Yuuri would have never thought there would be a day where the word "orgy" comes out of Morooka's mouth. 

He continues, "They keep submitting the evidence to the Tsar, who persistently ignores it all." 

"What is the point of having a secret police when one ignores everything they find," the omega muses rhetorically. 

"The secret police are still exemplary at rooting out the Tsar's enemies and sending them off to an early grave or a work camp in Siberia," Morooka offhandedly mentions. "There is a man named Iosif Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili," the guard says, impressively not even drawing breath as he utters the long name, "who is a member of the social revolutionaries and is behind several thefts and burglaries. The secret police arrested him and then placed him on a train to Siberia. Exiled." 

Execution would have been better, but he is not the one controlling the policy of capital punishment. He doesn't enjoy the idea of enemies being alive. There is always a risk of retaliation, especially in Russia. 

* * *

Yuuri arrives fifteen minutes early only to find Chris nursing a glass of red wine at the round table by the window. Dressed in the best of fashion including a luxurious coat made from the fur of a wolf, the omega is escorted by an imposing number of Japanese guards. They stoically move to stand at a distance, granting an illusion of privacy. "Good morning." 

"Morning," Chris replies in English, wearing a fine black suit and appearing as the very picture of a modern man, unhindered by omega fashion. His bespoke suit jacket is laid over the back of his chair, and he appears at ease. He blends into the environment easily, as if he frequently stays in hotel rooms that cost more a night than a peasant's average monthly wage. "I'm glad that you came, Your Highness." 

Yuuri pulls out the chair and sits. Busying himself, he plucks up the menu and waves absentmindedly. 

"What can I get you, Your Highness?" A boy with a notepad eagerly steps up to their table. 

The omega casually orders the most expensive red wine and asks for blini, beef stroganoff, shchi, and shashlik. 

Once the boy scribbles down and darts away, Chris remarks, "I don't know Russian, but I hope you didn't order too much food." 

"Don't worry. I'm certain they will allow you to bring the leftovers home." Yuuri doesn't think he will eat everything, but the children adore shashlik. They deserve a little treat after all the studying and lessons they put themselves through. 

"Shall we stop beating around the bush?" 

The omega raises an eyebrow. 

"You strike me as someone who would appreciate honesty from other people," Chris muses. Setting the glass down, he runs his finger along its brim, following the circular edge. “I would like to be perfectly honest with you. That way we can clear the air and set the record and the rumors straight. I know there was a lot of talk ten years ago. I tried not to listen to it, but it’s there. The gossip columns love typing lies to sell papers.” 

Yuuri mutely nods. He ignores a waiter setting down a wine bottle and then pouring it for the omega. 

“I think it’s best to start from the beginning. Now, please remember that this is before you married Viktor, so keep an open mind.” Chris polishes off his wine glass, tipping his head to the waiter pouring more wine for the other omega and then for Chris. “Spasibo.” Then he returns his attention to Yuuri. “My family came from a line of wealthy Swiss nobility. We used to have titles, but with the law prohibiting the use of titles, we no longer do. My father worked as a barrister for many years, even though he didn’t need to work a single day in his life. His work took him to Denmark every year for a couple of months, and that was how I met Viktor when I was in my teenage years.” 

It makes sense. Tyotya Maria took Viktor and her other children to Denmark every summer, so they could visit their grandparents. Yuuri’s husband hasn’t been to Denmark for at least a decade now. 

“This was all before I presented as an omega. We were friends before either of us presented, and sometimes, besides his siblings, I believed I was his only friend. From what Viktor sparingly said, it sounded as if he had a lonely childhood, especially after his father passed away. He was his father’s favorite child.” Chris continues, “I eventually presented at seventeen, but I was not involved with Viktor at that time. My father drew a list of suitable mates for me. There were over three hundred names on that list. One of them was a promising young medical student named Matthieu Giacometti.” A small smile plays on the omega’s lips. 

“But what does this have to do with Viktor?”

“I’m getting there,” he says unhurriedly. “Due to the great volume of names, my father allowed me to choose certain parameters. Height, age, residence. I wanted someone taller than me. I didn’t want someone twice my age or even older. Last of all, I didn’t want to live anywhere in the south of Switzerland. I dislike mountains. Matthieu Giacometti passed through my parameters. He was one of the fourteen remaining, but my father was hesitant upon him at first. Though he has been notable among the medical community for his development on Pasteur’s germ theories and research on microorganisms, he was poor. By poor, I mean very poor. He was starving for most of his childhood yet grew tall and remains in the permanent state of being unable to eat very much or gain significant weight.” 

“That is terrible.” Yuuri can’t imagine it, but he knows many Russians suffer in the same circumstances. 

“He wanted to marry me because of my money. It was obvious.” The omega stifles a giggle at his own words. “He charmed my father, and I understood what he wanted, so we got married. My dowry was twenty-five thousand American dollars. My father liked him and how he arose and thrived despite his humble beginnings. I didn’t love him. He was rarely home, he worked on his research more than he slept, and he hardly talked to anyone. But I did what any good omega does for years. I played a good husband, but I was bored.” A pause. “Then Viktor came. Swept me off my feet. We were friends, but this time, we were something more. Courtship.” 

A sudden chill pools in the omega’s stomach, but he forces himself to listen to Chris. 

“We went to places together. Paris, Berlin, London. We even saw  _ Scheherazade _ conducted by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov himself in St. Petersburg. This was before the composer died and they made the ballet adaptation. Throughout it all, people talked. People noticed, of course. An omega rarely catches the attention of Viktor. They became aware of who I was, a married omega with a husband back in Switzerland. They talked, coming up with the most appalling rumors that I was after Viktor’s status and money. But little did I know that Viktor was very serious.” 

“Was this during the Russian war with Japan?” 

“Yes, actually,” Chris admits. “In 1905, Viktor was able to obtain leave from his military service to return to St. Petersburg. By then, my husband had caught up to me in Russia and abandoned his post at the University of Zurich. He used the return address of a letter I sent to my father to track me down. They met in Viktor’s villa in St. Petersburg. I was not there, but Viktor offered six hundred thousand roubles to my husband to divorce me.” 

“That is a hundred thousand American dollars.” It is more money than most people have seen in their entire lives and four times Chris’ dowry. 

“Viktor offered double, and then my husband said, ‘I would be a literal idiot for you to accept any of your bribes. Get out.’ And Viktor actually did." A pause. "Matthieu waited for me to return to the villa and asked if it was alright to return home together. I was infuriated, but I eventually agreed. We boarded a train and left Russia. On the train, we talked for the first time ever. Truly talked. He learned that I was bored with our marriage, and he revealed Viktor's offer. I asked why he turned it down. That much money is more than enough to set him free for life, but he told me that I was worth far more than all the money in the world. He apologized for mistreating me so in years of marriage and asked if it was too late for him to try again." 

Yuuri takes a sip from his wine, captivated by the story. 

"'Try again?' I told him that he never tried in the first place. But he offered a year. An entire year of courtship where he tries to attain my affections. Afterwards, he will agree to a divorce without needing a single rouble of Viktor's money." 

"You agreed to those terms?" 

"Yes. I admit I was intrigued. He turned down more money than what he'll make in a lifetime to not divorce me. Then months later, Viktor went to our home in Switzerland. Matthieu was not happy that he wanted to speak to me, but he did not protest." 

"Was this in August?" 

"Of 1905," Chris says aloud, thinking back. He nods. "I believe so. Matthieu was fired from his job for taking off to Russia without a warning, but he quickly found another teaching position. At that time, he was not regularly at work. Anyway, Viktor told me the terms of the treaty of what would be the Treaty of Portsmouth. He was to be married to a Japanese prince, who is an omega and the grandson of the Emperor at that time. The Japanese prince had already agreed to the condition, but Viktor was not bowing to the pressure of St. Petersburg. He asked if I would be willing to elope.” 

“Even though you’re still married to Matthieu?” 

Chris nods. “I believe if Viktor and I were married, we would get along very well. Much better than Matthieu and I in the earlier years of our marriage. But I listened to what Viktor said and I told him no.” 

“Why?” Yuuri doesn’t understand why Chris would tell him no. He has seen Viktor. He is married to Viktor. It is absolutely insane that anyone would turn down Viktor. Omegas would cut off their own hands for a marriage with him. 

“About two hundred thousand people died in the war between Russia and Japan. A treaty between the two nations would put a stop to all the bloodshed, and knowing a little bit about royal marriages, it would be an insult if the Japanese prince married anyone less than Viktor’s status and rank. Viktor’s many cousins are not suitable. I told him that it is his duty to marry the prince to ensure peace. Who knows how many more will die otherwise?” 

He hesitates. “That is altruistic.” 

Chris smiles slightly. “Well, he didn’t enjoy that explanation, but he did leave once I told him that my husband is courting me at last and that I’m quite happy with what he has done so far.” He adds, winking, “But I didn’t tell Matthieu that. It’s good to let him work a little harder. You don't want an alpha to get too comfortable. A year of courtship, and I knew that he was a man I could love. Emilia, our daughter, is a product of that love.” 

The omega distantly remembers the translated words written on a piece of paper slipped to him between the folds of a newspaper. “How did you end up becoming a doctor?” 

“Matthieu asked me what would make me happy. I told him that I didn’t want to spend my entire life at home and only occasionally taken out like a piece of fine china for his scientific conferences and dinners with the university’s sponsors. I wanted to do something more. He helped me obtain a seat in medical school." 

"How was medical school?" 

"I made a mistake the first day. I dressed as an omega, and no one took me seriously or gave me respect. After that, I wore Matthieu's clothes before I got my own wardrobe. Haven't dressed that way in years, and I like it that way. I am treated the same way I was treated before I presented. There were a few people who remembered what I wore on the first day, and they passively disrespected me, but it was manageable. I ignored them." 

Yuuri is piqued with curiosity. "What about heats?" The downfall of male omegas in the military are always heats. If they avoid a thorough doctor examination, then they would have to face a major challenge in the form of a heat every three months, give or take a few weeks. 

"I was unfortunate for a few. They took place during final examination week, and I had to take the test earlier. It was a good thing Matthieu was well-versed in what I was studying. I would have been behind in class, but instead, I graduated top of my class." 

"Thank you," Yuuri says in Russian as a waiter places a plate of steaming shashlik in front of them. Shashlik is skewered meat on a stick, and these particular ones are from lamb. "I would like a pitcher of water." To Chris, he switches to English and says, "This is shashlik. Have you eaten it before?” 

"Once." 

It turns out to be delicious enough that Yuuri considers ordering extras for the children. They would love the juicy fat and the sweet, tender meat. With the two omegas eating lunch, the remains of the tension fades away. 

"Tell me, does he still complain about becoming bald?" 

"Yes," Yuuri confirms, pushing back a grin. 

Chris laughs. “He shouldn’t be worried about that!” 

Conversation does flow easier once the plates of food arrive at their table. They flit from one topic to another, starting at their children to Russian weather to the war itself. They discuss the use of poisonous gas in the war. The Germans used it successfully against the French back in April but were unable to gain a significant advantage. 

"I only know about it from the newspapers." 

"It is awful. It should never be used in battle. Ever," Chris insists. "The letters I received from my colleagues devastated me. Soldiers permanently blinded from advancing developments of this weapon." 

Then they move onto the topic of how the Giacomettis jumped to help in the war. 

"Originally, Matthieu and I helped in London, but we heard that this front was worse off. The American Red Cross is widely present in the west, and fewer soldiers and civilians die of diseases than here. We had to come to help." 

"I thought Switzerland is neutral." 

"We were in London for a conference when the war broke out. Besides, just because Switzerland is neutral doesn't mean its people have to be." 

It is forty-six minutes past one when Yuuri orders shashlik to-go and then tells the waiter to bill their meal to his hotel room. 

"I could have paid," the other omega protests, watching the waiter scurry away. 

"But I was the one who invited you," he points out. "It's best for me to get going. The boys love shashlik, especially while it's hot. They can eat it for every meal." 

Chris nods reluctantly. "Alright, but if you ever come to Switzerland, send me a letter and we'll come up with a time for lunch again. I'll pay." He pulls out his pocket watch and whistles. "Time travels fast. Good timing, Your Highness. My husband and daughter are about to pick me up." 

"It's Yuuri," the omega corrects with a smile. "And don't get surprised if I do take up your offer one day." He hands the to-go containers to the closest Japanese guard, who accepts it quietly. In Japanese, he orders, "Take that to my hotel room and give it to Yuri. It's for the children." 

"Yuuri," Chris tests out once the guard silently leaves. "Well then, have a nice afternoon." 

"You too." The omega watches Chris slip on his suit jacket and stroll away. It is a full minute before the omega rises from his seat, slips on the spectacles he hid away in his coat pocket, and looks out of the window, glancing down at the streets below. He easily spies Chris at the hotel's entrance and waits for something to happen. 

Something does happen. An open-air automobile, shiny and black, pulls up right in front of Chris. A young girl in a red coat with ringlets of brown hair eagerly reaches out to the omega for a hug. She says something, her mouth moving rapidly in excitement. Then Chris straightens out her hair and opens the door for the seat next to a driver, who is an older man with brown hair smartly slicked. Yuuri thinks he wouldn't look out of place at a prestigious university. 

Matthieu leans over and presses a kiss on Chris' cheek. With a soft smile and a word at his daughter, who is making a face and then a head roll of dramatic disgust, he drives the automobile away from the hotel and disappears around the corner. 

* * *

An urgent knock at the door nearly startles the biscuit out of Yuuri's fingers. He places the treat on the side of his teacup and calls out, "Come in." 

Boris, Viktor's assistant, comes in with two of the alpha's guards, their faces drawn in subtle worry. "Your Highness, I apologize for bothering you, but I rushed back from the front as soon as I could." 

"Is something wrong?" He asks, a sudden roar in his ears. Why would two of Viktor's guards be in Kiev without Viktor? 

"Viktor Alexandrovich is sick at the front." 

"But he hasn't returned to Kiev?" 

"Unfortunately, not. Despite everyone's protests. He remains adamant that he should not be moved and believes the motion of an automobile or a train could weaken him further," Boris explains. "That being said, he also remains adamant that he continues working." 

"What insanity," Yuuri says, appalled. 

"I told him that we can pass his work along to the Baron, who is already temporarily taking his responsibilities, but Viktor Alexandrovich insists that he do the paperwork himself despite being unable to read a single word on a telegram. I managed to convince him it would be better if he delegates his tasks to someone else in interest of his health. I asked if there was anyone he trusted to do his paperwork. He recommended you, Your Highness." 

The omega squints, wondering if Viktor has lost his mind. "Surely there is someone who could temporarily take on Viktor’s work." 

"Nevertheless, he recommended you. Do not worry. I will help you." Boris props his briefcase on the coffee table and splits it open, revealing a large pile of military documents. "Viktor Alexandrovich has already signed a lot of things without looking at it to ease the process." 

"He rubber stamped them all?" Yuuri asks incredulously. "Where do these have to be delivered? Back to the front?" 

"No, to the 9th Army Headquarters. Right here in Kiev." A pause. "Typically, I deliver these documents in person. It is too sensitive of material to send through the post. With Russia retreating from the war front and the Austrians driving us out of Galicia, it takes less time for me to deliver the most important information to the headquarters. A day now thanks to the train."

Yuuri can think of many inappropriate materials he has sent through the post. "Then we better get started. Do you need anything?" 

"A typewriter." 

The omega knows little about the daily routines of Viktor's division, but Boris does, having kept himself well-informed. He tries his best to puzzle out the amount of food, cartridges, and medical supplies they need, but Boris possesses most of the answers. 

They're halfway through the paperwork when Yuuri asks, "Why didn't he ask you to do it?" 

"I believed he might have appointed you to keep me from writing something offensive," the assistant admits, speedily typing through a memo requesting more doctors. 

"Offensive?" 

"I was a soldier. My superior at that time was an egotistical, arrogant, lazy, and short-sighted sort of man. Most people do not bother with announcing whether or not they're alphas in the military beyond a brief mention, but he never let us forget it every day." 

"How did you offend him?" 

"One night, I snooped into his office and wrote up his reports. I placed them in the delivery box. He assumed that it was his secretary who had done his work. Then his superiors began blasting him for writing horrible things about them." 

"He didn't get fired, did he?" 

"No, and I got caught by the investigation, because out of everyone under his command, I was the only one who could spell long words properly. He had half of a mind to shoot me and leave me dead in the snow, but Viktor Alexandrovich, who was one of the ones I insulted, did not take offense. He laughed at the detailed description of his character and offered me a job as his assistant with the sole condition that I never do something like that again." 

"Are you tempted to do something like that again?" 

"A little," Boris admits. "There is a general who is Viktor Alexandrovich's superior officer. He has a dislikable face and even worse personality. I think he deserves a strongly written letter." 

Holding the last of Viktor's paperwork, Yuuri tries not to laugh. "I will read what you typed after I'm done with this." He gestures to the dwindling pile of paperwork and folders left in the briefcase. The omega adjusts his spectacles and resumes reading. Some of them are merely reports about the conditions of a cavalry corps from Viktor's subordinates that Yuuri reads aloud to Boris, who types up a condensed version for Viktor's superiors to read. 

"What time is it?" 

"A little past six," the omega answers, briefly glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner. "Does Viktor do all of this every day?" 

"Not every day. This is a backlog of two days' worth of work. I'm certain there is more piling up in Viktor Alexandrovich's desk back at the front." 

Yuuri swallows the taste of panic. Logically, he knows that Viktor is cared for and needs his rest. But logic doesn't apply a dent in the longing to rush to his husband's side, no matter what. He places the report off to the side, slightly bothered by the diminishing numbers in the cavalry's ranks. He reads through the first page of a thin mandate. It is completely different from the reports, the memos, and the letters Yuuri has fielded, and there is something about it that looks strange. "Have Viktor’s duties changed? Has he gained a promotion?"

“No, and I think he prefers it that way.” 

The omega tilts his head, watching Boris out of the corner of his eye. “Why?” He casually sets down the mandate onto the pile of paperwork, his instincts guiding him. The mandate is slightly crooked on top of the neat stack. 

“Military politics,” Boris answers. “The higher one goes, the more they encounter it and the more frustrating it becomes.” 

He hums at that. Leaning forward, he reaches for the silver tray of crumbs and fruit. He pretends to busy himself with the teacup, setting it back down onto the tray. He carefully lifts the tray and places it on top of the mandate, head turning to the assistant. “Would you like to eat something? Fruit, chocolate? More tea?” 

The other man continues typing, seemingly not paying attention to Yuuri. “I wouldn’t say no to coffee with cream and sugar.” 

The omega nods, his fingers slipping underneath the tray. With both hands, he presses the mandate to the bottom of the tray and rises from his seat. Tray in hand, he approaches the door left slightly ajar. In Japanese, he calls out, “Ichika.”

The Japanese guard standing in front of the door replies, “Yes, Your Highness?” 

With his foot, the omega pushes the door wider. “Give this tray to Yuuko. Tell her I want the box of chocolate she’s hiding from her girls, fresh coffee with cream and sugar, and more tea.” 

Ichika doesn’t blink or react at the feeling of paper underneath the tray. She inclines her head slowly and accepts the weight. “Yes, Your Highness. I will do that.” 


	17. Chapter Three

Yuuko reaches underneath her desk and drops the mandate on an unopened box of chocolate. With a small smile, she notes, her tone teasing, "Stealing military documents is illegal." 

"So is conspiring," Yuuri agrees, sharing her grin. With Boris off the palace's grounds and Yuuri within the privacy of Yuuko's office, the omega can take a closer look at the mandate without any curious eyes on him. He picks up the mandate, opens its cover, and examines the insignia. He has seen a few royal mandates before. The Russian military put in a large order for rifles and aircrafts. The omega has helped facilitate these orders. But this mandate, the one he holds in his hands, appears strange. A brief summary of information is given at the top. At the bottom of this page, no unit price for some sort of flamethrower is written. 

Yuuri remembers the mandate for the purchase of rifles and aircrafts very well. He remembers Viktor looking rather disappointed when the omega informed him that the arsenal is rather limited in capacity, preferring to carefully craft each rifle to the best quality possible rather than to produce as much as possible. On behalf of the Russian High Command, Viktor had helped create a mandate similar to the one in front of him. Earlier this year, he gave Viktor the price of each rifle and aircraft and the maximum number the arsenal can reasonably produce in a given period of time. 

But this mandate? It is a blank cheque, allowing an unknown number of flamethrowers to be bought at a price the manufacturer hasn't even given. It looks rotten and inappropriate to Yuuri, and he stares at the name of the inventor. "Yuuko, I need you to send a telegram to Morooka. I need him to investigate an engineer named Bratolyubov, who makes weapons." The omega glances at her, noticing the confused look on her face. "I'll write it out," he assures.

With the mandate in his possession and the correct spelling of the engineer's name left with Yuuko, the omega retreats to his bedroom. Dealing with Boris and Viktor's paperwork has turned the day into night, with the children sent off to bed already and Yuri having read their favorite stories. It leaves much time for Yuuri to think and review the mandate more closely. 

Dressed in his pajamas, he sits in bed on Viktor's side with the lights still switched on. He glances through the weapon's specifications. It apparently can set the enemy's troops aflame. The omega is not quite convinced of it. Chemical weapons seem more promising and lethal, but what does he know of new weapons? Chemicals, though Chris has strongly disapproved the use of them, is still a young development at the scale the Germans have been using. 

In the mandate for the purchase of rifles, the Russian High Command had borrowed a few soldiers to test the crates Yuuri obtained from the Japanese Imperial Army. They'd gone through extensive testing on accuracy and ease of reloading and their capability regarding bayonet techniques. They were suitably impressed by the quality. 

But this mandate is different. There is no suggestion that it has undergone intensive testing like those rifles. At a deep analysis, the mandate is completely unfinished, yet if one examines it superficially, it only appears as if it’s in its final stage, needing Viktor’s signature. 

With a sigh, he stretches out his arm to switch off the light. Hopefully, Morooka can find some answers.

* * *

A telegram from Morooka arrives at four in the morning, but Yuuri is not awake to read it until a reasonable time in the day. The matter of it is urgent enough for Yuuko to have quietly slipped in sometime during dawn to leave it by Yuuri's head. 

It is a short telegram. 

**Fraud.**

That is the only word Morooka has left for Yuuri, and it takes several blinks to cast away the sleep still weighing down his eyelids. Fraud, fraud. Morooka has selected to only telegraph a single word and informed that the engineer named Bratolyubov is a fraud. It sends Yuuri thinking, forgetting about breakfast. What if someone slipped in the mandate, hoping Viktor would sign it and look rather foolish or worse? What if Viktor was tasked with the mandate's wellness, looked for it, and couldn't find it? Would he create another one and try to submit it to his superiors? 

He has no authorization over the military accounts, but it doesn't mean someone couldn’t inappropriately use the mandate for their own purposes. Yuuri doesn't know how this mandate came into Boris' possession. 

But if Viktor knew and his superiors tasked the alpha to possibly implicate him in a military scandal, then Viktor has to be warned. Yuuri can't simply send a telegram. He knows better than to do that, and the lines leading to the front are heavily monitored for espionage and suspicious activities. He can't use code like Yuuko to disguise his true message when Viktor doesn't expect a secret message. 

"A secret message," Yuuri breathes, and it takes everything he has to not sprint to Artyom's class for his solution. No, he will eat his breakfast, wait for class to end, and then ask if he can slip a message through his son's letter. 

* * *

Yuuri always collects the children's letters to Viktor every day at four, an hour before the post closes. Upon seeing Artyom alone in his shared room without Anton present, he shuts the door, trepidation slowing the movement of his tongue. "Tyoma, I want you to listen carefully." 

"What is it?" The young boy's eyes widen in interest, his attention briefly drawn away from his studies. 

"Do you still write to Papa in invisible ink?" 

"Yep," he chirps. Then he narrows his eyes suspiciously. "You're not going to read them, are you?" 

"No, absolutely not." Yuuri steps closer to his son and sinks to his knees. "I need you to help me pass Papa a secret message." 

"A secret message?" The boy's dark eyes are blown wide with awe. "You want to send a secret message? But why not send it in your letter?" 

"Because Papa wouldn't know to look for it. Would you help me, Tyoma?" 

Yuuri's note to Viktor is merely two sentences long. He writes it directly above a crease on the back of Artyom's written letter. He doesn't mind the boy squinting as he reads the words aloud. 

"'Bratolyubov is a fraud. Flamethrower is worthless,’” Artyom quotes. The boy glances up in curiosity. "Who is Bratolyubov?" 

"Not a good man," Yuuri answers, setting down the brush stained with lemon juice. "Tyoma, I need you to keep this message a secret. Do not tell your sister. Do not tell your brother." 

"What about Yuuko?" 

Though Yuuko already knows, the omega shakes his head. "Nobody. It is a very important message. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." He nods. "Can I write my secret message to Papa now?" 

"Of course." Yuuri makes a point to turn away, listening to the gentle scratch of the paper as Artyom writes his secret message with lemon juice. He hopes that Viktor will understand, that Viktor is well enough to read their letters, and he hopes that nothing bad will come out of this. The letters should arrive in Viktor's hands by tomorrow through express mail. 

* * *

Boris comes back to Kiev every few days, looking haggard from extensive traveling and carrying his familiar overstuffed briefcase full of Viktor's paperwork. No other paperwork draws Yuuri's attention, and Boris seems to be completely unaware of the stolen mandate. It forces Yuuri to think. Does Boris know the existence of the mandate, slipped it in, and refused to acknowledge it to Yuuri, because he knows Viktor wasn't supposed to receive the mandate? Or did Boris not know about the mandate and someone else slipped it into Viktor's paperwork, hoping the fraud would be passed through under Viktor's signature? Or perhaps did Viktor know and Boris didn't, because a superior passed the assignment to Viktor? 

On a chilly day in early December, Boris pulls out the last of the paperwork from his briefcase and informs, "Viktor Alexandrovich has sufficiently recovered enough to resume some of his duties. I'm confident he will make a full recovery, and I believe that this is the last visit of this kind that I will make to you, Yuri Alekseevich." 

"That is good news!" Viktor has not been able to write beyond a few lines while he was sick, and Yuuri has frequently thumbed the messy cursive, hoping that his alpha's hand would grow steadier. He has sent care packages to his husband every day, but he will not be satisfied until Viktor is well again. 

"Yes," Boris agrees with a smile. "Now, shall we?" He gestures to the looming pile of Viktor's paperwork. 

While fielding through the paperwork, Yuuri finds a small note on a folded squared paper. It is written in Viktor's hand, and the omega runs his index finger underneath the words. 

_ Thank you, zolotse.  _

The omega slips the piece of paper into his sleeve, his heart feeling much lighter.

* * *

Christmas of 1915 finds Yuuri glancing at the gardens every once in a while as he speaks with guests. The crowd has thinned itself of many men, and the atmosphere is somber. What has been thought to be a quick war against Austria-Hungary and Germany has turned into a year-long war with no end in sight. Through the glass doors, the omega sees the snow covering the trees, but there is not a sign of the person he longs to see the most. 

"He is not coming," Phichit says, after smiling sweetly to the Mayor's wife and encouraging her to try the preserved apricots. He watches the middle-aged woman walk arm-in-arm with her daughter towards the table of refreshments. "He sent a telegram informing that he has orders to stay at camp and will not be able to leave for Kiev this Christmas." 

The omega's voice whispers with disappointment, his shoulders sagging. "You didn't inform me earlier?" 

Apologetically, he explains, "I was hoping circumstances had changed, and he would send me a telegram at the last moment and inform me that he would be returning to Kiev after all." 

Yuuri sighs, nodding. "Thank you, Phichit." He turns and smiles at the chairman of Kiev's water company. It is becoming too easy to fall into small talk with his guests while keeping an eye on his children. Ekaterina and Artyom are running around with the other children while Anton and Yuri stand together near the refreshment tables. His mouth moves automatically, nodding at the right moments. "Yes, a terrible thing that the army is retreating." 

After invading Austria-Hungary, the Russian armies are on full retreat and being chased by the combined militaries. Some in the papers are rather hopeful that the enemy would soon tire themselves out as they slip deeper and deeper into Russia. The omega is not so confident as long as the armies are capable of laying down rails to transport food and supplies to the front. 

After a week of illness, Viktor had resumed writing his letters to Yuuri and the children. They grow in length, and through regular mail and the changing line of the war front, they take less time to arrive. Viktor had dryly informed Yuuri of his decision to personally oversee the daily morning run, which had led to a chorus of complaints. The omega managed to send a reply, begging him to be more cautious with his health and to not push his body beyond the limit. 

There is no mention of the fraudulent engineer beyond a short reply in Artyom's letters.  _ Tyoma, tell Otou-san that I know.  _

Know what exactly? But Yuuri doesn't dare to ask and Viktor doesn't explain in any letters. Yuuri takes solace in the knowledge that the alpha knows. He is not a fool, and he trusts that his husband will make the correct decisions. 

"My son was injured while fighting the Germans," the chairman says, clutching his cane. He is a wheezing old man with the appearance of an old grandfather. Yuuri distantly remembers his husband, a young pretty omega who holds the title of being the man's fourth spouse. 

"I hope he is alright," he instantly replies, his mouth moving instinctively with practiced words. 

"A broken leg. They sent him to St. Petersburg for him to receive better care." The old man frowns, exasperated. "Petrograd!" His sudden bellow draws eyes, and with his free hand, he waves the attention away. In a quieter voice, he notes, "That city was named St. Petersburg for hundreds of years. It will take a generation for St. Petersburg's new name to be accepted." 

"Twenty years, you would say?" 

"Give or take," the chairman agrees. "By then, I would be dead. Therefore, there will be no need for me to accept its name," he declares, a little too cheerfully and gleefully. "You, on the other hand, must get used to the city being called Petrograd." 

"A name is merely a name," Yuuri says, raising a brow. "It does not matter what name the city bears as long as we can find it on the map." 

The old man lets out a bark of a laugh. "Very pragmatic, aren't you? I appreciate your unique perspective." 

The omega inclines his head, his eyes drawn back to the refreshment tables. He watches as his youngest child wipes tears out of his eyes while Yuri Plisetsky helplessly stares with arms outstretched in an awkward pat on the shoulder. "You must excuse me." 

"Of course, Yuri Alekseevich. I will miss your company." 

Tugging his skirts up, Yuuri brushes past the crowd and slips through a maze of people sitting at tables covered with festive red and green tablecloths. He clears his throat and asks, "Antosha, what's wrong?" 

The young boy's intensive sniffles seem to prevent him from uttering a single word. 

Turning his head and leaning forward, the other omega whispers, guilt setting his cheeks aflame, "He spent all night waiting for Viktor Alexandrovich to arrive at the party. He was certain that the magic of Ded Moroz would bring him back from the war front. A few minutes ago, he began to think his sister was correct about the nonexistent nature of magic and I have accidentally confirmed his realizations. I'm terribly sorry." He continues awkwardly patting Anton's back, as if he doesn't know what else he could do. 

"I see. I will handle this." He steps closer to his son and crouches down to gently wipe away the tears with his fingertips. He cranes his head to the other omega. "Do you have a handkerchief?" 

Invigorated by the request, Yuri reaches into the depths of his pockets. "Yes, I do." 

With the white fabric in his hands, Yuuri dries the boy's tears and softly reassures, "It is alright, Antosha. Here, use the handkerchief. Blow your nose." He patiently rubs the boy's shaking shoulders, waiting for the soft hiccups to fade away. "It will all be alright." 

Yuuri doesn't know if it truly will be, but he refuses to lie down and wait for Viktor to return home and for the war to be over. The least he can do for Anton is to offer some comfort and quietly hope that Viktor is safe. He may not be a believer in God or a spiritual, supernatural force, but he would be lying if he claimed he didn't echo the priest's prayers on Sunday with more force than necessary. 

"Otou-san?" the boy chokes. 

"Yes, Antosha? What is it?" 

"Tell me the truth. Is Katya right? That magic isn't real?" 

Yuuri briefly glances over the crowd until he spots Ekaterina hiding a few yards away behind a decorated tree. She is not as discreet as she thinks she is. He doesn't react, and he pulls the boy into a hug, as if he could shield Anton from the harsh truths of the world. "Antosha, I will not deny this to you. Magic is not real. Ded Moroz is a fairy tale and a very good one. The same goes for all the other fairy tales." He gently scents the boy, rubbing circles into his back. 

"Then why did people tell me magic was real?" 

The tale of Ded Moroz has been used to encourage good behavior in children. It is a story that is similar across cultures, nations, and geography. Yuuri searches for a softer but true answer to tell his son. He simply tells him, "Sometimes, it is good to believe." To wish, to hope, but he leaves his words at that. 

"Is God real?" 

The omega hides a grimace in Anton's shoulder. That is a very volatile question, and Yuuri doesn't know how he can actually answer it without being skinned alive by the true believers and his critics. He hasn't even dared to tell Viktor his lack of belief in anything at all. "I don't know, Antosha. But God brings great comfort to those who believe in him." It sounds like a safe answer to Yuuri’s ears without strongly encouraging his son to believe in God. 

"So is there a God?" 

Yuuri can't find it in himself to utter another word. He simply holds his son tighter, cherishing the connection and comfort they share. He listens quietly as his son's tears renew itself. 

"All I want this Christmas," he chokes out in between breaths, "is just for Papa to come back. To come home." 

"I know." Shushing, Yuuri presses a kiss against Anton's temple. "I know, Antosha. I want the same thing." 

* * *

With his family's private wing sectioned off from the rest of the palace, the omega does make the weekly effort to survey the temporary hospital he ordered to be set up. Most of the soldiers have severe injuries that require intensive care and treatment. Yuuri knows that the doctors occasionally have to send soldiers out in bags, but he has strictly forbidden the doctors and priests from carrying bodies out in the view of the children's windows. 

Brushing by a few cots placed in the hallways, Yuuko says in Japanese, "The Red Cross has been requested by the Russian government to extend their assignment for another six months." 

"With the way the war is going, they may need to ask for more time than that." The omega sighs. Fatigue has worn down most of Russia, and with men returning in coffins and bags, the entire war doesn't seem to end anytime soon. The passion of patriotic duties have waned, leaving behind masses of disillusionment. 

"A small article on page five said the inventor has been arrested." 

"He is not actually an inventor." But Bratolyubov has been arrested by the Russian authorities for illegally abusing military documents to garner millions in bank loans in support of his fraudulent invention. Among the paperwork the engineer has are an introduction letter written by Viktor, a few military mandates, and approval notes. Phichit's press connections have buried Viktor’s involvement. It is frustrating to the omega, for it smears Viktor's good name and casts doubt on his husband’s judgement. He wonders if the documents were obtained before or after Yuuri had warned the alpha. He wants to believe it's before, that Viktor is not so idiotic as to give Bratolyubov free reign even after Yuuri explicitly warned him. 

"Yuuri," Phichit gasps, rushing down the hallway. In Japanese, he hastily explains, "There you are. There are a couple officers from the Okhrana who want to speak to you."

"Did you tell them I wasn't here?" 

"I did, and they say they know your schedule and claim that either they would look for you or you come to them. They're waiting in the library downstairs, and they do not seem intent on leaving even after a couple guards showed up to watch them. What do you want me to do?" 

Okhrana. What do they want with him? The omega thinks quickly and orders, "Make them wait. I don't want to say anything to them until a lawyer gets here." 

"I'll call for one immediately." 

* * *

Ilya Fedoseyev, who sits on Viktor's annual payroll, is the lawyer who answers Phichit's call. He is dressed in an expensive suit, and his light brown hair is neatly parted and combed over with oil. The two officers' shoulders sag immediately the very moment the lawyer enters the room. Yuuri tries not to react to their subtle change in behavior. 

"Is there a need for a lawyer, Your Highness?" The older officer, a Mr. Preobrazhensky, straightens out his tie. "Do you feel like there is something you need to hide?" 

"His Highness will answer what questions he wants and nothing more, gentlemen," the lawyer announces, his voice lulling and calming. "He is a very busy man." 

"Viktor Alexandrovich fell ill last November, correct?" 

The omega finds no harm in answering that question, and he nods. "Yes." Viktor's superiors knew that the alpha wasn't feeling well, but they clearly had no idea how sick and stubborn he was if they were sending him paperwork. 

"His assistant had made five visits to you during this time." 

"That sounds correct." 

"May we know what his assistant was doing here?" 

The omega doesn't dare look at the lawyer. He doesn't know what the officers are looking for, but he knows they are trying to implicate someone of some crime. "My husband has some files he left in his study. He wanted to bring some back to my husband." It is not the whole truth, but rather a partial one. 

"He did that for all five visits?" 

Yuuri shrugs, playing up the bored attitude of a socialite. "I don't manage his assistant. Was I supposed to stick my nose into something that doesn't worry me?" 

"Your Highness, you were not curious about the duties of Viktor Alexandrovich's assistant?" 

"He has worked for my husband for longer than I've been married to him," he says, carefully choosing his words. "He is a trusted member of our staff, and he has served my husband very well." And if he has to choose who the Okhrana nails to the ground, he would help them select a coffin for Boris. 

"May we see your husband's study?" The younger officer finally speaks up. 

Yuuri calmly glances over to the lawyer. 

Ilya narrows his eyes. "As a general, Viktor Alexandrovich keeps many classified military documents in his study. Do you have the authorization of the military or of High Command to search his study?" 

"We have the authority of the Supreme Commander." 

The omega stays stoic. The Supreme Commander is the Tsar himself. This detail forces Yuuri to rethink the motive behind the Okhrana's visit. They may not be after Boris but rather something else. 

"Do you have the paperwork?" 

The look on their faces says no. 

Ilya coldly informs, "Then you will not be permitted to search his study. It is a matter of our country's security, and we can't have unauthorized access to this information." 

The younger officer seems dismayed by the lawyer's answer, but the older one impeccably shakes his head, as if knowing not to push. 

"May I ask what you may think to find in my husband's study?" 

"No, but thank you for your audience, Your Highness. We will be leaving now." 

Yuuri raises a brow. He calls out to the Japanese guard standing in the doorway. "Saito, please escort them out." 

* * *

The matter of the Okhrana visiting is severe enough for Morooka to send several coded telegrams throughout the night. Communication doesn't seem to travel fast enough for Yuuri's liking as he paces back and forth in Yuuko's study while she laboriously decodes the message. Morooka has sent a telegram simply stating he's looking for an Okhrana case in Kiev at nine, another stating he is questioning an informant, and the omega is hungry for answers now that a third telegram has arrived. 

"He says that they're looking for a mandate that has gone missing after it was placed in Viktor Alexandrovich's possession." 

"Does he know why?" 

"No, he didn't say why." 

Yuuri knows there is only one mandate they could be searching for. It's the same one hidden underneath the floorboards of Yuuko's study. But he doesn't understand what the Tsar could possibly want with a fraudulent mandate? It doesn't make sense, unless the entire Okhrana case is a show of power to intimidate the omega. 

A sudden chill sweeps down Yuuri's spine. He forces himself to focus. It might not be that reason, and if it is, well, he will not be intimidated at all. 

Yuuko taps her pen against the desk. Kindly, she questions, "Perhaps I should get some tea from the kitchen while we wait?" She turns to the telephone in the corner, where it innocently sits on a wooden square table. 

"It's not necessary." With the children in their beds and nothing on his schedule in the morning, the omega is quite willing to wait all night. 

Yuuko, on the other hand, has to cancel a few meetings, but she understands the importance of Morooka's telegrams. 

The omega startles the moment the telephone rings. He holds his breath as he watches Yuuko pick up the receiver and tirelessly jots down every single word of the telegram. It sounds innocently enough, asking after the health of the triplets and her husband. The message is signed off with Yuuko's deceased mother's name. 

She rubs her eyes and begins to work. From seemingly nowhere, she pulls out Morooka's true words hidden in plain view. With her finished transcription, she quotes, "'Four of twenty-six mandates missing.'" 

The omega narrows his eyes. There is only one mandate in his possession, and he knows that if he allows the officers to search Viktor's study, they will never find it in that room. That being said, after dinner, he has hastily moved all the accounting books into his bedroom in case the Okhrana is interested in his husband's financials. 

But what of the other three missing mandates? And did Viktor happen to sign any of those mandates unlike the one in his possession? 

* * *

Two different officers from the Okhrana arrive the next day in the midst of the afternoon. It seems strange that they have decided to change the investigators, but Yuuri can see why. If he didn't have guards armed with guns in the hallways and in the library, he would be afraid. The two officers are looming in height with unpleasant demeanor, and one has a distinct jagged scar over his eye. Whatever previous injury he suffered was not deep enough to blind him. 

Perched on Yuuri's left is the lawyer. "His Highness has graciously answered your colleague's questions yesterday. You must be mindful of his position." His words are accompanied by an equally chilly look. 

"This is the permission from both High Command and the Supreme Commander to search Viktor Alexandrovich's study," an officer says, pointedly ignoring the lawyer. Leaning forward, he drops a folded sheet of paper on the coffee table and pushes it across. 

Ilya quickly nabs it, his amber eyes scanning through the lines. "I see. This is only from the High Command. Where is the authorization from the Supreme Commander?" 

"The Supreme Commander is a busy man. Mr. Fedoseyev, are you truly that arrogant to demand the personal attention of the Tsar himself?" 

The lawyer smiles in cold amusement. "I'm concerned if you are truly here on anyone's authority. Committing a fraud in the name of Russian government is treasonous, which you two should very well know." 

The sudden turn in conversation has Yuuri holding a breath. He dares not to react, positioning himself quite still in anticipation. Ilya is first and foremost Viktor's lawyer and has been for years. Before yesterday, the omega had only met him in passing. Did he know something about the case that Yuuri doesn't? Does Viktor know about the Okhrana's investigation and instruct Ilya to protect Yuuri? Or does Ilya have his own connections? 

"Mr. Fedoseyev, what are you implying?" 

"Nothing," he states casually. "It is a scandal, or rather, a series of scandals. What a shame that our government has been defrauded many times over. I seem to recall reading an article in the papers about a brilliant inventor who supposedly invented a fire-based weapon that turned out to be a trick." 

The omega's heart skips a beat. What is the lawyer doing? Is he deliberately trying to instigate a battle against the Okhrana? He nearly opens his mouth, but the officer speaks up before he could. 

"Mr. Fedoseyev, where did you obtain your information?" 

"Weren't you listening? I said the newpapers. Shall I bring you a copy and teach you how to read?" 

The officer turns an ugly purplish shade of red. "Why you, arrogant. . ." 

The officer with a scar, who has remained quiet, tugs at his arm. "Your temper, remember." He glances back to the lawyer and then to Yuuri. "Mr. Fedoseyev, if your client doesn't mind, we would like to search Viktor Alexandrovich's study. The only permission we need is from High Command. The letter you hold contains the signature and permission of the Chief of Staff." He nods to the paper in the lawyer's hand. "There is no need for any other authorization."

"Your Highness, your decision." 

The omega rises from his seat. "I will show you my husband's study." 

The two officers are quiet and confident even as they're outnumbered five to two by the Japanese guards. Yuuri is reminded of a train with a series of carts, leading the line down the tracks. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key to open his husband's study. 

Basked in the sunlight slipping through the open curtains, there is only the merest hint of Viktor's cologne and nothing else. A typewriter rests on the desk, and Viktor's sizable collection of firearms is locked behind a glass door in the cabinet. The only sign of light is the potted desert plant Ekaterina, with the help of Governess Baranovskaya, procured from the market. It barely needs water, the pointed jagged edges protruding from the alpha's bookshelf. Yuuri's Christmas gift to Viktor, the Japanese-styled tapestry of Ice Castle, hangs on the wall across from the bookshelves. 

"Wait outside, please." With a glare towards the lawyer, the officer shuts the door.

Sound hardly travels outside Viktor's study. Yuuri knows. He has walked out of the study quite sore and avoided all the knowing eyes piercing him. Replacing the door and padding the walls seemed to do the trick, and Yuuri almost regrets that decision. He can't hear what the officers may be doing to his husband's study: if they're knocking down Viktor's firearms or disturbing the neat, particular order of his books. 

Ilya clears his throat. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an ivory-colored letter. "This is for you, Your Highness." 

The omega accepts it. The back is sealed, and he easily parts the wax seal with his fingertip. There's a folded paper, and he holds his breath, immediately recognizing his husband's writing. The letter stretches across both the front and the back of the page. The words are tiny, and Yuuri puts on his spectacles, squinting. 

_ Zolotse,  _

_ You have no idea how grateful I am for your help. I cherish every update you write of the children, and whenever I read what you write, my worries temporarily subside.  _

_ In the interest of keeping our matters private, I've ordered Boris to mail this letter under his name to Ilya Fedoseyev, a trusted lawyer I've known for decades. Let it be known that I'm certain our communications, whether through mail or telegraph, are being monitored. I do not know the finer details of who or why, but suspect them of the most malicious intentions.  _

_ My brother has discovered a potential investment to be deeply flawed and ordered the Okhrana to hide the matter. He had given me management of the investment, but the papers for it had gone missing while I was sick. Though I'm unable to retrieve or find the papers, my brother remains adamant that the papers must be found or else they could be used to slander our family's good name and the trust the public holds in us. He has used a great deal of resources at his disposal to find these papers, knowing they were last seen in my possession.  _

_ Though I was nonchalant on the issue, my brother was not. The papers haven't appeared anywhere nor were they in the newspapers as an example of mockery. Perhaps the papers were misplaced and will simply remain lost.  _

_ Zolotse, times are growing busier and busier to the point that I feel terribly selfish to ask for some time off. So I don't. But I wish for this whole war to be over soon, so that I can return home to you.  _

_ War is a strange thing. Ekaterina occasionally sends me letters, inquiring for advice to better play Kriegsspiel. You give her much to think about and a great challenge to solve. But Kriegsspiel is merely a picture, a series of events slapped together with glue. It does not show how harsh are the conditions of the war front, and it does not reveal how inconsistently food arrives for the foot soldiers nor the weakened morale. It does not say how many soldiers die of disease.  _

_ I am so frustrated and tired by it all.  _

The letter is unsigned. 

The omega glances up, returning his attention to the lawyer. "When did you get this?" 

"This morning." 

"Thank you." 

Ilya clears his throat. "If you have time, you can write him back and send a letter through me. I'll mail it to Boris." 

The omega inclines his head. He won't write anything that may implicate himself or Viktor, but he knows he should send a note back, telling his husband he received his message. He murmurs to the guards, "Stay here." Then he strides down the hallway, heading to a janitorial closet. He hits the switch, peering for the supply of paper. It's there, the lowest shelf against the wall, where Viktor always keeps his supply of pencils, blank papers, and other miscellaneous stuff. The alpha abhors any clutter that persists for a long period of time, preferring to tuck it out of sight. 

Against a section of the wall, he scratches out his reply. 

_ Be safe, Vitya. I will be your anchor. I will be here when you return home. Do not worry so much. I love you.  _

_ Yours, Yuura.  _

He folds the paper in half and grabs an envelope. Exiting the closet, he hurriedly seals the letter before handing it to the lawyer. "They're still in there?" 

"Yes, Your Highness," confirms a guard. 

"Stay with them until they're off the palace's grounds and inform me when they've left. Do not let them go anywhere else but the library, the medical wing, or here," the omega orders. With hands clasped behind his back, he strolls down the hallway and away from Viktor's study. He has to attend to the children. 

* * *

Yuuri hasn't heard from the Okhrana since then nor have they found the mandate hidden in Yuuko's room. He and the children haven't seen Viktor since Christmas, and for Yuuri, though every heat is manageable, they only remind the omega of the months that have passed without his husband. He tells himself that many omegas have been through this before, that many had their alphas go to war for years and endured moments away from their mate.

In early May, Alexei presents as an alpha, nearing his eleventh birthday. 

Invitations for a party celebrating the boy’s presentation have been sent to every single member of the royal family, including Yuuri and the children. Viktor has received one as well, but has written to the omega, informing that he won’t be able to attend. It will look bad upon Viktor to avoid this monumental affair, even worse than his uncle’s funeral. But the omega understands that his husband would not leave his men behind, drawing a sharp contrast to his many cousins serving in the military with none of their hearts poured into their responsibilities and national duty. 

From all the way in Kiev, the omega thinks he can hear the Tsarina crowing in victory. Without a doubt, she will be the grand host of the party, rich in smugness and triumph. 

The omega makes reservations at Grand Hotel Europe a few days before the party. He turns down the Tsarina’s personally written invitation, which offers the omega and his family to stay at the Alexander Palace. Yuuri would rather not spend a single second more than he has to in the Tsarina’s insufferable presence. He understands that his children get along with most of their cousins and has declined to inform any of his children of the Tsarina’s offer. 

“Why does it matter what Alyosha presents as?” Artyom complains, crossing his arms over his chest as his body rocks to the motions of the train. “Why must we go all the way to Petrograd to celebrate?” 

Sitting quite primly, Ekaterina patiently explains, “It’s because of Pauline Laws. Paul the First was the son of Catherine the Great, but he hated his mother and the then-current laws of succession. He made a new set of laws about it. Males are preferred, omegas are not included unless all other options have been exhausted. Alphas are most preferred, but it doesn’t matter if you’re born a girl. Like Alyosha’s older sisters. They’ve been looked over.” 

“Since when did you learn about Pauline Laws?” Yuuri inquires, drawing his attention away from his newspaper and tilting his head at his oldest child. 

“Governess Baranovskaya showed me a few books about early Russian history and law. She said I might find it interesting to know about.” She glances out of the window, watching the landscape dart by. “It seems unfair. At least, alphas of men and women are able to inherit the throne in Japan.” 

“Omegas used to be as well,” he informs. “But that was a long time ago. Before the laws regarding succession passed.” 

“I think they were jealous.” She raises her chin. “If Paul the First knew any bit about history before passing the Pauline Laws, he would have known Catherine the Great never needed succession laws to become the Empress of all the Russias.” 

Yuuri appraises her words. She’s not wrong. Catherine the Great seized power through a coup d'état. 

* * *

The omega can’t help but recall the lines of starving, desperate peasants milling around the half-empty stalls at the Petrograd markets at the sight of the eleven-course meal. Pork, lamb, salmon are decorated quite extravagantly. Even Anton, who loves every meal and would hardly waste a single crumb, begins to look exhausted by the time the seventh course is brought out despite having smaller portions. Nevertheless, he looks over the grand table with a frightening expression of determination. 

The omega is having none of it. “Antosha, slow down. You’ll make yourself sick.” 

“He’s a growing, hungry boy, Yura. Don’t worry too much about him,” laughs one of Viktor’s cousins. 

“Antosha, save some room for dessert,” Yuuri merely says. 

Ekaterina and Artyom, on the other hand, are beginning to take only a few bites from each course, a little more if they enjoy the dish. Yuuri himself admits that the meal isn’t horrible. It’s, in fact, delicious, but he lacks an appetite under the Tsarina’s look of pure happiness and bliss. By her side, the Tsar himself sits at the helm of the table. 

The sight of the Tsar, who is the Supreme Commander, sours the omega’s mood. It’s a powerful reminder of that fact that Yuuri’s own husband, who is a general and a more respected officer, is not present. He’s grateful that no one has picked up his sharp unhappiness behind the polite mask he wields. 

And when the time comes to present a gift to Alexei, Yuuri demurely affects a delicate curtsy, his eyes staring at the current Russian heir’s feet. He’s not ignorant of the bloodied bandage tucked beneath the boy’s sock nor of the looming nannies standing behind Alexei. Yuuri has been informed by Morooka that the nannies were selected from the Russian navy and were men of honor. A forced curl of his lip presents a smile, and he claps when Alexei opens his gift of a wooden toy sailboat cheerily painted with blue and white. 

“Thank you, Yura,” the Tsarina says, her eyes glimmering bright in pleasure. She swirls the glass of wine in her hand. “It’s a thoughtful gift, isn’t it, Alyosha?” 

* * *

Morooka arrives at Grand Hotel Europe in the evening with hair and clothes in disarray. The fabric is rumpled, as if he slept in an awkward position and hadn't found the time to freshen up. Dressed in a suit and black tie, he goes straight to business once the drawing room's door is shut. In Japanese, he informs, "Your husband is unlikely to return to Kiev anytime soon. He is needed in a military operation." 

"Dangerous?" 

"When is it not?" He simply states with a raised brow. "There is some more. Bratolyubov was arrested by the police, right?"

"He was charged with his crimes. Convicted." 

"Rasputin has interfered with his sentence. Bratolyubov is about to be released from prison." 

"What," the omega flatly says in disbelief. 

“Bratolyubov is about to be released from prison,” Morooka repeats himself. “I have an associate who is slowing down the process for his release by misplacing paperwork and the sort, but if Rasputin comes to the prison in person, there is no guarantee they will be able to hold him for very long. He is supposed to be released later today.” 

Shaking his head, Yuuri sighs. He takes a large sip of tea from his cup. “How did Rasputin manage to convince the prison to release him? He is slandering Viktor’s name with his crime.” 

He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

“He has practically the authority of the Tsar.” Yuuri pauses and inquires, “Did they manage to find the missing mandates? The ones he used to gain loans from banks, citing the need for additional funds in order to create his invention?” 

“No.” 

“Would you say he has the rest of them and will likely return to his old ways? Continue defrauding the banks and the government? Leave a line of people knowing nothing better?” 

“I don’t know. He walked away with at least five hundred thousand roubles. He was only caught because of his greed. He asked for more from the banks than he should have. Two million roubles and then it was five million roubles at another bank. That’s when they became quite suspicious and began to ask questions,” Morooka explains. 

“Did they ever recover the money?” Five hundred thousand roubles is quite a lot of money to obtain from the bank. It’s not anything to Viktor, but to Bratolyubov, who is not wealthy like Yuuri’s husband, it’s more than enough money to settle down and live a good life in permanent retirement. 

“No.” 

“Is he friends with Rasputin?” 

“Bratolyubov?” At Yuuri’s nod, the guard confirms, “He is.” 

Yuuri reaches for a biscuit. With a pointed look, he sighs and tells him, “It’s a shame how friends can sometimes disappear. You do them a favor and then they run away, never to be seen again.” 

Morooka remains still, unflappable. “And what of the money?” 

“A pity that the banks gave money to an unscrupulous character. If the police weren’t able to recover it, then it’s likely it will never be found again.” The omega shifts his weight to the other leg and adds, “I don’t think anyone would miss this sort of man. He has broken all the bridges he had to upper society.” A pointed pause as Yuuri places the biscuit on the saucer. “If someone were to find the money, then it’s theirs.” 

Morooka smiles slightly. “That’s assuming they can recover the money. But I believe Bratolyubov will be taking a nice and long and permanent vacation soon.” 

Satisfied the matter has been settled, he changes the conversation subject. “Is there anything else I should be aware of?” 

“A coup d'état is being planned by other members of the Russian royal family, seeking to replace the Tsarina at the very least. Rasputin’s removal is the highest priority. There’s a suggestion for the Tsar to abdicate. I could not write you this in letters, because this is highly sensitive information. The efforts of this coup d'état are currently ongoing.” 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, feeling a flutter of excitement in his stomach. “Him abdicating? Do you believe they can succeed?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Why maybe?” he probes. 

“Maria Feodorovna is involved and may be capable of persuading the Tsar to do what is right for the empire, to calm the people’s worries about Rasputin by removing the holy man and the Tsarina from their positions. In one of her letters, she personally suggested a convent for the Tsarina. They are increasingly worried about the protests and civil unrest in Petrograd. The atmosphere is becoming volatile.” 

Tyotya Maria is involved in efforts to remove her own son from the throne? Yuuri narrows his eyes. “Is this why Viktor is so busy? Because he is involved?” The next in line for the throne is the Tsar’s son, but he can easily be taken care of. When all the dominoes have fallen, then there is nobody but Viktor to be crowned. 

“No.” Morooka shakes his head, his expression stoic. “I do not believe Viktor is involved with this. Maria Feodorovna did reportedly visit the war camp at the front earlier this year, but I do not believe she managed to convince him to take part, if she was trying to tell him about the coup.” 

This draws the omega's attention. Viktor, who writes letters daily unless suffering from an illness, has never mentioned seeing Tyotya Maria. 

He sighs, feeling a headache throbbing at his temple. It sounds like Viktor to not take part in politics and the business of a coup d'état, loyal to his brother to the very end despite it all. He shouldn’t have been so surprised by it. Viktor is no opportunist when it comes to power, preferring to be a supporting actor and mind his own business, life, and family. “You said Maria Feodorovna is involved. Do you know who else they have? What are their plans?” 

“Maria Pavlovna began this plot.” Morooka rattles off a few more names that belong to Viktor’s cousins and uncles. 

Yuuri can’t wrap his thoughts around it all. Miechen and Tyotya Maria have formed an alliance? They’re sisters-in-law who hate each other, bitterly feuding as Miechen is constantly reminded that Tyotya Maria’s husband and then son have sat on the Russian throne. Miechen, without a doubt, longs for her own son to take the throne. 

“Nikolai Nikolaevich or Kirill Vladimirovich have been named as potential guardians for Alexei, who will be Tsar once Nikolai Alexandrovich has been removed.” 

Viktor and Alexandra, by law, are the guardians for Alexei in his minority in the event of the Tsar’s death. He understands the removal of Alexandra, but he can’t believe that none of the coup participants except for Tyotya Maria have considered Viktor. He can understand why Miechen certainly hasn’t, but what of Viktor’s cousins? Why haven’t they tried to support Viktor for the throne? 

Of course, they can’t support a bid when Viktor doesn’t want anything to do with the throne, forced to choose someone else who wants the crown. 

Yuuri mulls it over. If they succeed, then Viktor will never be able to have a claim to the throne. This is like Empress Elizaveta and her older sister, prior to the existence of the Pauline Laws. When Empress Elizaveta took the crown after a coup, her older sister, who was their father’s heir, was unable to claim her rightful heritage. Kirill Vladimirovich doesn’t have a son, but it is only a matter of time before his wife bears him one and Artyom will never be considered for the throne.

No, Viktor would not take the power of the throne. He must be forced by law to take the crown, following the line of succession. That is the only way he will accept it. 

Feeling quite furious over the situation, he whispers, “Report them.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Report them to the secret police. Inform them that the aristocracy is planning a coup.” He wishes to go to the front again, wanting to shake Viktor’s shoulders and tell him that he should gain a taste for power and seize his rightful place as Tsar. But no, he would not lift a single finger against family even if his brother hasn’t treated him as well as he should have. 

“I will.” 

* * *

From June 4 to June 6, the battle at Lutsk in Galicia rages. It ends in a breakthrough for the Russian forces with them seizing Lutsk on June 8th. Viktor’s letters to the children, which take days to arrive now with the concentrated offensive the Russian forces have made against the Austria-Hungarian forces, appear calming and confident. But to Yuuri, he privately admits,  _ the offensive we’re undertaking is bloody and costly. We feed bones and flesh into a machine that demands more life to sustain it. When does it end?  _

Yuuri doesn’t know the answer himself. All he knows is that Viktor is out there risking death every day that he participates in the attack commanded by General Aleksei Brusilov while all his cousins are busy meddling in a coup in Petrograd, far away from the German artillery. With his husband leading the cavalry, the omega is deathly afraid for his husband’s life. He knows it improves the soldier’s morale, seeing the Tsar’s younger brother himself on the front lines like a true Russian. He abhors it, but he holds his tongue and turns to other matters. 

By the end of June, Morooka has sent an associate to inform Yuuri in person that they've discovered a windfall of over five hundred thousand roubles and that their rat problem in Petrograd has been handled without anyone being any wiser. Yuuri has directed the money towards the embassy's budget for clandestine activities. The influx of money should help Morooka's associates purchase what they need without raising an issue. 

In late July, Tyotya Maria arrives in Kiev. With Yuuri’s permission, she takes one of the empty apartments on the palace’s grounds for her use. Having not seen her in ages, Yuuri takes note of her appearance. She is tired, and for the first time, she appears quite old, as if the stress of the war has pressed down on her, shackles and weights around the ankles. He stands in her drawing room, slicing open an envelope from the Tsarina with a flick of his nail. 

It’s addressed to Yuuri. 

_ Yura,  _

_ I hope you don’t mind Motherdear staying with you in Kiev for some time until she can pick up her spirits. The weather and climate there should cure her. Try not to worry her too much.  _

_ Sunny _

Kiev, so far away from Russia’s capital, is the perfect place to store the Tsarina’s enemies. Yuuri takes it that Tyotya Maria’s coup hasn’t succeeded and that the Tsarina has clearly found out about it. Folding the short letter, Yuuri returns it into the envelope. He raises his head and says, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Tyotya Maria.” He smiles gently and adds, “The children will be so happy to see you. They’ve missed you.” 

She smiles in return, a brief reprieve from the severe wrinkles on her face. “I’ve missed them very much, too.” 

“My assistant told me that in September it will be fifty years since you’ve first arrived in Russia. It’s cause for celebration.” 

“Fifty years,” she repeats in disbelief, shaking her head. “That was a terribly long time ago. It seems only yesterday when I made my first official appearance to the Russian people.” 

“The letter you gave to me from the Tsarina,” Yuuri pauses, waving the ivory-colored envelope at his mother-in-law. “She seems more condescending and unpleasant than usual. What happened in Petrograd?” 

Tyotya Maria stops fiddling with her hat. “What do you mean? She has always been unpleasant?” 

“Fairly.” The omega shrugs carelessly. “Ever since Tyoma’s birth and it only got worse since Antosha’s. It doesn’t hurt me, and I’m not worried about her attitude towards me. But what happened in Petrograd?” 

“Nothing important.” 

“I heard a little about it from Vitya,” Yuuri lied, watching her expressions closely. “The rest I’ve heard is from rumors and gossip.” 

“You shouldn’t listen to them.” 

“All rumors and gossip have a kernel of truth in them. I take it you weren’t successful and she had you exiled from Petrograd?” 

She snaps her head to Yuuri, eyes widened. "Did Vitya tell you?" 

"Only a little," the omega says. 

She mutters an impolite curse under her breath. "Dear God, Vitya." 

"Don't blame him. I heard a lot more from here and there. I was hoping you would succeed. I'm truly afraid to go to Petrograd now with the soldiers and citizens being dissatisfied with the state of our affairs." 

"Someone's tongue has gotten too loose if you heard this much all the way in Kiev." 

The omega inclines his head. "I am curious about one thing. Why not put Viktor on the throne instead of his uncle or cousin? Surely, he is a better and more acceptable option." 

"I tried to convince him. But he would never do anything to overthrow his own brother even if it’s for the good of Russia. He explained to me this way. If he becomes Tsar, he would take on the responsibility for millions of people. He doesn't want to bear the weight of this responsibility alone. He doesn't want to be Tsar." 

"Maybe I could have persuaded him." Yuuri turns around and peers out of the window, at the trees hovering around the pond. "Perhaps I could have convinced him to do what is right." 

"I think Nikolai Nikolaevich or Kirill Vladimirovich could have done an adequate job as Tsar, and they're far more willing to do so. They’re willing to step up.” 

"I'm astonished that you decided to help Miechen, to put her son on the throne." 

There is a pregnant pause. 

A soft whisper is what breaks the silence. "Sunny and Vitya did not know that Miechen was involved." 

Yuuri stills, taking care not to react. He has inadvertently revealed more than he meant to. But that is the risk of answering questions based on information one is not supposed to know. He turns his head and smiles at her. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like in Kiev, Tyotya Maria. I'll be preparing a celebration in your honor. Fifty years is a milestone." He shoves the envelope into his pocket and briskly walks out of his mother-in-law's apartment. Perhaps he should have stayed to talk more and try to redirect her suspicions, but he already got the information he needed from her. 

Besides, even if she did mention her suspicions to someone, it does not matter as long as it doesn't reach the ears of the Tsar and the Tsarina. Anyone else is free to recognize Yuuri as the snake lurking in the shadows. 

* * *

The miraculous June Advance lasts until September. The Germans are forced to pull some troops from the other lines, and the Russian forces have temporarily found their way to the Carpathian Mountains and remained until supplies ran too low. It is a costly endeavor with newspapers reporting differing numbers in casualties. Both sides have lost hundreds of thousands of lives. The forces of Austria-Hungary and Germany combined have lost two or three hundred thousand more than the Russians. 

Though Russian militaries have dealt a great blow against the enemy, the people at home very much feel the effects and severely pay its toll. 

And in October, Viktor comes home. 

"Papa!" Ekaterina cries excitedly, eagerly jumping into his open arms. "Papa, you're back!" 

"Oh, Katyusha, you've gotten so big now!" The silver-haired alpha kisses the young girl's cheek. "I missed you so much. Papa missed you so much." 

"Papa, I want to hug you, too," Artyom says, pouting. He grabs Viktor's left leg, tugging at his father's uniform. "And I got so much to show you, too!" 

"Where is Antosha?" 

As if on cue, Guang Hong steps in with Anton hobbling along for balance. "Sorry, Your Highness. He wasn't too careful at where he was going when he heard you returned. I had the doctor check his bruise, and Leo confirmed it is merely a minor wound. No cut, no bones broken." 

Anton blushes and admits, "I tripped over my shoelace." 

"Oh, Antosha. Tyoma, let go of my leg." The alpha then sets the girl down and squats down to the boy's eye level. "Can you show it to me?" 

Yuuri sucks in a breath upon seeing the angry purplish red bruise. It doesn't appear too severe, but it definitely does look painful. He bets his youngest son will be feeling the bruise for a day or so before it heals. 

"I'm sad." 

"Why, Antosha?" 

"I can't show you all the jumps and spins I've learned tomorrow morning." 

"It is alright, Antosha." Viktor ruffles the boy's black hair. "The most important part is that you get better, so you can do all the jumps you want when the bruise has healed." He wraps the boy in a tight hug, laughing as Artyom joins in. 

Then Ekaterina throws her own arms around them, squeezing her eyes shut. "I missed you so much, Papa." 

"I know, Katyusha, I know." 

The omega steps forward towards the group. His footsteps force a noticeable creak in the floorboards. 

Viktor raises his head, still beautiful despite his weariness and the dark bags underneath his eyes. He stares at Yuuri hungrily, as if he's been traversing a desert without water and has come upon an oasis in the omega. Gently slipping out of the group hug with the children, he rises and breathes, "Zolotse." 

When they touch for the first time in what seems to be eternity, the omega sees fireworks dancing behind his eyelids. With his eyes shut, his lips meet Viktor's for a long-awaited searing kiss and happiness bubbles in his throat, joy sparking in his veins. Not even the annoying verbalized disgust and secondhand embarrassment from his children can wipe the smile off his lips when they inevitably pull away. "Welcome home, Vitya." 

"My memories," he pauses, his hand reaching up to wipe the tears off the younger man's cheek. 

When did Yuuri even start to cry? 

"What about them?" 

"My memories of you pale in comparison to what I see." And Viktor smiles, pulling the omega against him once more. "Oh, it's so good to be with you again. I missed you so much." 

"Vitya." 

Viktor turns around, his hands still clasped to the omega's waist. He stiffens but politely greets, "Mama." 

"It is good to see you, Vitya. Safe and hale and happy. Far away from the war front." 

He nods, speechless. 

They probably would have stood around the drawing room forever if it wasn't for the grandfather clock in the corner ringing its bell six times, signaling dinner. 

"Dinner!" Anton shouts excitedly, piping up to break the silence. He suddenly slaps his hand against his mouth. "Sorry, that was too loud." 

Viktor laughs, the tension in his shoulders breaking. "It is all alright, Antosha. Let's go eat. I'm famished." 

* * *

It is only after dinner, when the children have dispersed from the dining room to prepare for bed, that Viktor turns his attention upon his mother and cuts straight to the chase over the dining table. “Mama, what are you doing here?” 

"She is exiled by the Tsarina, and the Tsarina has written a letter to me informing that she hopes Tyotya Maria is able to stay for a little while," the omega explains. He touches Viktor's elbow, shaking his head. "Vitya, it's alright." 

The alpha furrows his eyebrows. "So you know what is going on?" 

Tyotya Maria is visibly taken aback, her eyes sharpening like a hawk swooping in the skies.

"I had to dig to find out more. You didn't tell me very much," Yuuri lies, patting the alpha's arm. "It is all a terrible affair, and I'm saddened the current situation in Petrograd has intensified." 

Viktor's azure eyes pierce Yuuri, almost as if trying to peer into the younger man's mind. "I see," he merely says. "I suppose it wasn't successful if you've been exiled from Petrograd, Mama." 

She sighs. "Not you, too, Vitya." But there is not a single hint of antagonism. A pause. Then she announces, "Vitya, Yura, I'm only going to stay until Christmas, if that is acceptable. After that, I will find my own arrangements." 

"Mama," Viktor replies, "you are free to stay as long as you like and as long as my husband is willing. But you must promise me that you will never tell me to turn my back on Nicky again." 

She looks staggeringly old, her expression crestfallen and pale hair escaping her bun. "Fine, Vitya," she murmurs weakly. "Then I will not say a word to you about it again." 

"Thank you, Mama." 


	18. Chapter Four

In the privacy of their bedroom, Viktor's eyes are locked upon the omega freely lounging on their bed in nothing but a loosely wrapped kimono made from expensive red silk. Instead of joining Yuuri on the bed, the alpha inquires, "How did you know about the coup attempt? I never wrote about it." 

"Vitya," the omega distractingly purrs, licking his lip.

"Yuuri, I am serious." Still dressed in his military uniform, he sits down in the velvet armchair by the nightstand, too far away to touch the younger man. "I need to know how you know about this and about Bratolyubov being a fraud. About information most people don't know." 

"Bratolyubov is obvious. You ask any general working in high command, and they would have heard about Bratolyubov. They know he is a quack." Morooka had known about Bratolyubov even before Yuuri had ever read the engineer's name on the mandate. That alpha has a list of names and a folder of notes on each person, the work of over a decade in the making. 

Tilting his head, Viktor frowns. "Have you been visiting the headquarters for the army?" 

The omega pauses, weighing his options. Here, where Viktor is bluntly asking him questions, he does not find it within himself to come up with a creative story or a simple lie at all. "You can't tell anyone how I know." 

"Zolotse, I wouldn't. You know I wouldn't." 

"The diplomats at the embassy are tasked with tracking the pulse of the public's sentiment every day. Ever since I've arrived, the number of employees at the embassy tripled as ordered by my grandfather when he was Emperor. To protect me and provide an escape in the possibility that a revolution like 1905 would happen again but at a greater degree of instability,” Yuuri explains carefully. It is not the full truth, but it is more of the truth than he would have told anyone else. 

"Oh. That makes sense." After a moment of hesitation, Viktor reveals, "Bratolyubov was recommended by Rasputin to my brother. He passed the details of the purchase to me, but I wasn't able to handle most of it, because I got sick. I did manage to sign some mandates, but I now know it was the incorrect choice." He shakes his head in disbelief. "He used my signature to authorize a loan that the Russian government has to cover on behalf of the bank." 

Yuuri hesitates. "You had Boris give me your paperwork." 

"Of course. Boris can do it, but he hates some of my superiors and must be prevented from typing something rude and offending someone. There's no one else who would be as careful and trustworthy as you. How did you find out about the coup? Couldn't have been from me." 

"The same way I learned about Bratolyubov." That is true. He learned it all from Morooka. 

Viktor raises a brow. "Someone wasn't being careful enough if the Japanese diplomats were able to find out about it." 

"A loose tongue is dangerous." Yuuri sits up, the kimono nearly slipping off his left shoulder. "I wish I was there when you were sick." 

"It's alright, zolotse. I was an awful patient." With these words, Viktor rises from his seat and lifts his finger to hook the wayward kimono. He yanks it down, revealing more of Yuuri's bare skin. "Zolotse, are you wearing anything underneath this kimono?" 

"Why don't you find the answer for yourself?" 

Leaning over, the older man undoes the knot in the back, deftly sliding the fabric out. He brushes the kimono off Yuuri's shoulders, leaving it pooled around the omega's hips. He stares long enough that Yuuri begins squirming under the alpha's examination. "Sorry, zolotse. I'd forgotten how beautiful you are." 

The words themselves would have made the omega cringe in disbelief but a current of reverence underlies his husband's tone that belongs to no place but one of divinity. And with the tie sliding out of place, he kneels before Yuuri on the rug, his touch slow and warm at the omega’s feet. There is nothing but the most sincere intention to worship, the alpha's hands spreading apart Yuuri's thighs and fingers leaving nail indentations across the pale, plush skin as they explore. 

Yuuri wants Viktor to leave his marks, all the soreness to dull throbbing that remind the omega that his husband has ardently returned to his side. He needs his bond mark to be renewed, the slick dripping from his cunt betraying his eagerness. 

A burst of lightning jolts at the very moment Viktor's lips press themselves against the younger man's inner thigh. A series of kisses dips closer and closer to the omega's core. 

The omega falls on his back, landing among the sheets and pillows. When Viktor's tongue hotly presses against his folds, he begins moaning in earnest, having forgotten his husband's set of particular skills. 

"Vkusno," Viktor murmurs, breath scorching the omega's erected cock. 

And Yuuri, he can pretend in this moment that there is no war happening miles away and that his husband is here to stay. 

"Vitya, stop teasing me," he begs, canting his hips up desperately. He hates how his husband is taking his own time, leisurely and sweetly, as if they have eternity to spend together and that every moment comes with another. He wants to live every second with Viktor, refusing to waste a single minute without his alpha buried deep inside him. He has prepared himself, inserting the cervical cap ten minutes ago. 

"Oh, zolotse, is this all for me?" Viktor's finger traces around the hard edge of the plug stuffed in the omega's dripping cunt. 

"Well, I do have a knotting dildo in the drawer waiting for me to use," he thunders, feeling quite unsatisfied and daring. It's akin to a death wish, but he knows that Viktor wouldn't do anything but grant him la petite mort. 

Viktor does not disappoint. He roughly pushes the plug deeper in, pressing against a sensitive core of nerves that draw out a ragged moan. "You come on my cock or nothing at all." 

Yuuri hungrily sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip. "Promise?" 

Viktor growls, rising and tugging the plug out. Still dressed in his uniform, he presses and grinds his clothed erection against the omega's dripping cunt, slick messily painting the older man's pants. It squelches between them, and Viktor hurriedly flicks open his topmost button. 

The younger man thinks he may weep at the sight of his husband's cock springing free from its confines. He hasn't realized how much he's forgotten, how pretty the other man’s cock is when slightly shifted to the right. Yuuri's mouth waters, thirsty for a taste, but Viktor is already pressing his way home into the omega's sopping cunt. "Vitya," he wails, gripping the sheets desperately. The preparation of the plug hasn't readied him for how wide and deep his husband impales. 

"You look like a dream, lying in wait," he breathes, sheathing himself completely. "Celestial made mortal," he pauses, shakily inhaling, "and mine." 

"Vitya," Yuuri begs, "move, please. Stop teasing." 

Pressing the omega down, the older man slowly withdraws, a smirk playing on his lips. The alpha leisurely paces himself, silver eyelashes fluttering as he captures Yuuri's gaze. "All in good time, zolotse." 

Yuuri is tempted to quip something about graying hair, but instead, he seizes his husband's broad shoulders as the other man enters him again, slick squelching obscenely at where they meet. Heat and a tingle of nerves overwhelm the omega's thoughts, and all that comes of his mouth is a strangled moan. His nails leave marks on his husband's muscular back, his hips desperately pushing towards the other man as his cunt eagerly welcomes Viktor home. 

"Zolotse," he murmurs, hot breath dancing over the younger man's bare shoulder. He nibbles his way to the fading bond mark on the omega's neck, rhythmically pounding at a lazily slow pace. 

"Vitya, please," Yuuri begs, panting. He instinctively bares his neck, offering himself to his alpha. He shuts his eyes as the bite is renewed, Viktor thoroughly marking him. White fireworks explode behind his eyelids, and his body shakes, clenching tightly even while the alpha pulls out. 

Fingers swipe the puffy folds of the omega's entrance. Viktor's intense gaze never leaves Yuuri's eyes, a devastating smile drawing on his lips. "Zolotse, you’re so good to me, dripping with my seed and your slick. All stretched out." 

Gaping and marked and possessed and claimed. Ruined for anyone else, and if he has it his way, there will be no one else. Viktor has carved himself a home deep inside Yuuri, and if Yuuri could impose his will, his husband will never leave. He squirms, forcibly spreading his legs apart even wider. His flexibility is at its limits, and though it is quite uncomfortable and straining to do so, Yuuri's cock hardens in interest and more slick drips out. 

Viktor's mouth is instantly on the omega, greedily consuming the mixture of seed and slick. He moves up, drawing a path to the omega's nipple and sucking at the sensitive nest of nerves. Then he rises. Guiding himself, he aligns his cock to the younger man's winking hole, snapping to a desperate pace. 

"Yes, yes," Yuuri chants, arching his torso at the waves of stimulating pleasure. "Vitya," he gasps, his hands finding his husband's tousled hair. He nearly sobs at the knot pushing against his folds. “Yes,” he cries, tugging Viktor’s hair and shamelessly pressing himself onto his alpha. 

“Zolotse, I—” Viktor never finishes his sentence, his head inclining forward as hot seed spills into the omega. 

Nerves tingling, the omega brushes hair out of his husband’s eyes, enjoying the heat and closeness and partial weight of the other man. Feeling quite boneless with Viktor's knot occasionally spurting seed into his cunt, Yuuri pulls the covers over them both. He sleepily remarks, "When your knot goes down, you take off your uniform." 

"You don't like the uniform?" 

"I prefer you naked." 

Viktor gasps in delight. 

* * *

With a teaspoon, Mila stirs in goat milk into her tea. It is an unusual addition to a drink, but the omega does not judge. His husband, after all, loves adding jam into tea. "I heard that your husband came back to Kiev." 

"His superiors had to force him to take leave. They're afraid that he may run himself into the ground, trying to find a victory for Russia." Yuuri shakes his head in exasperation. His husband has already gotten sick once yet has learned nothing from the ordeal, insisting upon pushing himself to the brink. 

"But it is admirable," Mila says, taking a sip from her tea. "No other officer takes their responsibilities as seriously as Viktor Alexandrovich. I'm surprised he hasn't been promoted to a higher position." 

He shrugs. "He tries his best." He is certain his husband doesn't get promoted for two reasons. The first is his brother, who has only recently raised Viktor's position to aide-de-camp and equalized him to Viktor's cousins already holding the elite status. The second is that Viktor refuses to play interior politics to climb the military rankings. 

The other omega turns her head, eyes finding the silver-haired alpha racing with the two bounding poodles around the pond. "Sometimes, I think he would make a great Tsar. Better than what his brother is doing." 

He resists a smile, plucking a biscuit with his fingers. "Don't let him hear that sort of talk. He abhors the idea of ever betraying his brother." It is also treasonous, but Yuuri could hardly care about that. 

Yuuri is guilty of much more. 

"A man who does not seek power is more worthy of it than those who do." Mila tears her eyes away. "You could try to convince him. You've heard how terrible the conditions are in Petrograd for people. It is clear that Viktor Alexandrovich cares far more about the people than his brother. If he is in charge, perhaps he can find a solution." 

"There is no benefit in speculating on what may happen. My husband can't miraculously make enough food for a city suddenly appear," he pointedly says. "But I've heard and I do not know how to help." 

"But you're providing food to the markets. We're not facing a famine here." 

"We’ve been in a drought and a decrease in production in every square acre even though we're farming more land," he points out. He sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know what else I can do. I can continue supporting the program and selling the surplus of crops to the market, but I don't know how to help Petrograd other than by sending preserved goods. Which I've been doing for months." 

With the troubles brought by inflation and a shortage of food thanks to a shortage of farm labor, a famine has struck across Russia. Yuuri's program has been forced into decreasing the children's portions in an effort to meet the demand for food of the school's nearby residents. The effects have been felt for over a year, and Kiev, with the farms nearby adapted to rented machinery, is better equipped than many Russian cities. The farmers have been correct to recognize the need for machinery to help food production.

Viktor was right, too. 

A few enterprising merchants have taken to buying food from the less-affected city and taking advantage of high food prices in famine-struck markets to make profit. Though Yuuri admires their ingenuity, the program has forced its sellers to enforce a daily maximum of purchases. The program’s administrators have suggested pricing the food at market value, but the omega has forbidden them from selling food at that inflated cost when very few can actually afford it at those prices. 

"Train doesn't work?" 

"All trains are directed to the front." 

"I hate this war," Mila murmurs. But it's a tired, drained statement, one said many times before. 

"I know." Yuuri can't make an entire war against Germany and Austria-Hungary disappear with a snap of his fingers. There is no magic at play. All he can hope is that one side of the war will blink first and that it's not the side of the Allies. 

"They said it was supposed to be a quick, great victory for Russia." She laughs humorlessly. "Little did we know. We lost millions of men, and we've stalled in front of the German armies. We are retreating. Russia has lost control over Russian Poland, and what more can Russia lose now?" 

The omega can think of many scenarios where Russia can lose even more. Russian Poland has never been a place of stability when compared to Petrograd, Moscow, and Kiev. The Polish living under the Tsarist government are stifled, harassed by bureaucrats wanting to Russify the territory. The language of Polish is strictly forbidden. The state of their roads was appalling at the start of the war and remains so. A similar trend in logic can be applied to other Russian territories. Lithuania, for one. The revolt in Russian Turkestan is another ongoing affair, a struggle between local Muslim populations and the Russians on the matter of conscription. Conquered lands are rarely satisfied with their conquerors. Japan can look to Korea for their personalized example. 

He hums instead of answering the other omega's question. Finally, he states, "The Tsarist government is supposed to handle food shortage problems. They're the ones who can ask for harvest from other nations. They have planners who know this sort of thing." 

Mila leans forward. "In the time Petrograd has been ruled by the Tsarina, Russia has had three Prime Ministers, five Ministers of the Interior, three Foreign Ministers, and most importantly, four Ministers of Agriculture. There were countless other changes in the government's positions, and everyone knows that the government is unstable. How could anyone do their jobs if the Tsarina can remove them at her own whim?" She takes a large gulp from her tea. "The rumors about her being a German spy have merit. She is doing very well destroying the empire from within." 

Yuuri knows from Morooka that the Tsar is receiving greater pressure every single day to remove the Tsarina and Rasputin. The call for abdication has grown steadily from a minority of voices, including some from the royal family. Some even from Viktor’s subordinates. 

Of course, none of them know that Viktor and Nicky are not on speaking terms beyond the necessary communications for the military. Nicky dislikes Viktor’s support for Yuuri’s program, and, in the aftermath of the Bratolyubov affair, Viktor possesses a growing resentment towards Nicky’s meddling in the military. The greatest offense, however, is perhaps the Christmas parties that Yuuri and Viktor continue to host in Kiev rather than attending Petrograd’s. 

The omega believes it's only a matter of time before public and internal pressure completely force the Tsar into abdicating. Once that happens, only Alexei stands in Yuuri's way, and it's far too easy to remove that boy. He is so close that he can nearly taste victory on his tongue. 

"Regardless, she is the Tsarina. There is little we can do about it." The omega pours himself a little bit more tea and turns to watch Anton and Ekaterina joining Viktor with the poodles and their stick. He can hear their rambunctious laughter even from the other side of the pond. 

* * *

After completing a complicated spin, Anton stops in front of the alpha lurking by the rinkside. "Did you see that, Papa? It was good, wasn't it?" 

"Most excellent," Viktor agrees, clapping. "One day, you might be representing Russia for figure skating. Like how Dmitri Pavlovich represented Russia for equestrian at the Olympics." A pause. "That is, if you want to, if you want to have that dream." 

The youngest child gapes. "You mean like a performance? But I don't know how any of it works, Papa! I've never been trained before." 

If Anton had been his first son, Yuuri might have protested the suggestion of hiring a figure skating coach for the boy. He has already put his foot down at Ms. Baranovskaya's suggestion, which has the full approval of his other son, to hire some professors from the local university to teach Artyom a little more about chemistry in depth. Too young is the reason he gave to Ms. Baranovskaya, but he knows the older woman will bring the topic up again in a few years or so. The boy is eight, but he’s eager to learn. 

"For figure skating, it is best to start young. That's what I've heard from one of the coaches here," Yuuri says. 

"You will really get one for me?" 

"Well, everyone knows how dedicated you are to the ice, Antosha," the older man points out, smiling serenely. "If you wish to learn how to skate and to perform, then we will do everything it takes so you can do that." 

"Like perform in front of people?" The young boy seems daunted by the prospect. 

"Competition does require you to perform in front of people. But Antosha, do not worry about competing. Focus upon your own skate, learn how you can make art. Now, can you show me your school figures again? They look so beautiful." 

"Yes, Papa!" 

"He's so talented," Viktor says, watching the boy swing his leg into a spin. "I don't think I could do that when I was his age." 

Yuuri smiles at Anton's flushed cheeks as he daintily folds out of the spin. "He has the sort of passion that should be honed." 

The older man turns his head, silver fringes falling over an azure eye. "What was your passion? When you were younger?" 

"I don't think I had one," he hums in thought. "I spent most of my childhood in classes. Language, history, some mathematics, geography. Education is what I remember the most." 

Viktor is silent for a moment. "Then what did you do for your amusement?" 

"Games, I suppose." 

"Other than Kriegsspiel, what did you play?" 

"Kriegsspiel isn't commonly played in Japan. A lot of the time I played Go and Mahjong. Occasionally, I played Xiangqi." 

"What is Xianqi?" The alpha inquires, stumbling over the Mandarin. 

"Elephant chess." At the confused look on his husband's face, Yuuri resists a laugh. "It is basically chess with slightly different rules. The king in elephant chess can't be moved beyond a certain boundary, but the goal is still to check your opponent's king." 

"How about the western version? Did you play it?" 

"Sometimes. Typically with diplomats. But most of the time with foreign dignitaries, we played cards." Yuuri thinks he can distantly smell the faint tang of cigar and hear the clinking of glass from the bar. His fingers remember the cool press of coins, the occasional touch of sweat at a particularly stressful point in the game. 

"Gambling?" 

"Of course." 

"I would love to play a game of cards with you," the silver-haired man muses. "I would love to see you play. Too bad it's nearly meaningless to use our money. It is not an incentive stake." 

He takes in the other man's words. Glancing over to Anton and noting that the boy has gone over to the other side of the rink to energetically converse with a rink employee, he lifts his hand and touches Viktor's shoulder. "Perhaps money isn't an interesting stake, but there are other things we can use." He rises onto the tips of his feet and whispers into Viktor's ear. 

The alpha perks up with undisguised interest and desire. 

* * *

"We are playing games tonight?" There is a distant hint of a whine in Artyom's voice. "But Papa," he protests, unable to finish his sentence. 

"Kriegsspiel?" Ekaterina questions hopefully. 

"No, we are playing a card game called Vingt-Un," Viktor announces, stacking the teacups on top of each other. He nods at a maid who takes them away. "Ah, thank you. Now, you all need to help me clear the dining table. Take the tablecloth off, take the dishes away." 

“But Papa, how does the game work?” The girl presses in curiosity. 

At the end of the dining table, Yuuri lifts his teacup and pot, so Anton can dutifully yank away the white tablecloth. He lets the maid set down two placemats and murmurs, “Thank you.” He returns his attention to the children and explains, “Each of you will be getting two roubles in kopeks.” He inclines his head to Viktor, who begins distributing the money. He waits until his alpha passes around him to whisper in uncertainty, "Are you sure this is a good idea?" 

"Well," the alpha pauses. "Cousin Borya got himself in a gambling debt worth a million roubles. Better we teach them the fundamentals of the game now before they learn on their own with consequences." He continues counting coins as he goes. 

The logic is reasonable, but he thinks that the children may be too young to learn how addicting gambling can be. Nevertheless, it is better for them to learn under Yuuri's watchful eye rather than at a gambling table. He informs, "There are two important rules when it comes to gambling. The first is never bet beyond what you are willing to lose. So, for example, I know Antosha would love a new pair of gloves. Betting with that money could allow him to buy a pair of socks to go with the gloves, but if he loses it all, he won't be able to buy any gloves." 

"But what is betting?" Anton inquires. "I'm confused." 

"I will explain it," the alpha reassures, placing the correct amount of money in front of Artyom. "Don't worry." 

"So what is the second rule?" Ekaterina asks, her finger spreading the pile of kopeks in an arc. The coins scatter over a small area. 

"Don't gamble while drunk," the omega lectures. 

Viktor nods seriously. "An important rule. Too much alcohol clouds judgement and reasoning. That's how Uncle Borya managed to lose a hundred thousand roubles in a night." 

"Is he the one who is fat and bald and pug-faced?" Artyom pipes up. 

Yuuri turns his head towards his son. Not even hiding his surprise, he asks, "You've met him before?" A small lump of trepidation grows in his throat. He remembers that man. He acted completely discourteous to Yuuri in front of Tyotya Maria many years ago. 

"Only when we were in Petrograd a few months ago. He was rude to us, but he was nice to Katya until she told him to stop blowing cigar smoke at my face and threatened to eviscerate him even though he's our uncle," Anton explains, innocently talking even as his older siblings cringe visibly. "What does eviscerate mean?" 

There is so much going on in what Anton has said that it leaves the omega's eyebrow twitching. He doesn't even know where to start, but first of all, he would like nothing better than to march all the way to Petrograd to tell Boris Vladimirovich his strongly worded dislike of the treatment of his children. Second of all, he says, "Why did none of you tell me?" 

"Or me," Viktor adds in, looking quite unamused. 

"He was an asshole, but he wasn't threatening us. He's not worthy of a single thought or mention," Ekaterina interjects prickly. 

"Do not use that language," the alpha instantly orders. Then he frowns, squinting. "Where did you learn that word?" 

"Places," she answers vaguely. 

"Who did you learn it from?" 

"People." 

Yuuri feels a great urge to put his face in his palm. "Vitya, why don't we go over the rules of the game and then we can find out who has been speaking inappropriately around the children?" 

The alpha nods. "Yes, indeed." He pulls out a stack of cards from his inner pocket. "Now, shall we play?" 

The omega is pleased yet worried that they've all quickly grasped the rules of the game. He watches them carefully, noting their preferences to their own gameplay. Ekaterina is reserved, not gambling more than she is willing to lose though she plays aggressively when she thinks the next cards will be quite favorable. Artyom has lost all of his money and earnings, seemingly delighted by the probabilities of the game. Anton plays only once and then shakes his head at the loss of two kopeks, tucking the rest of the money into his various pockets. 

"Antosha, can you give me one kopek?" 

"Go take a hike," Anton says, ignoring his older brother as he watches Ekaterina puzzle out whether she should change her positioning to beat her father's hand.

"How about I borrow one kopek?" 

Viktor laughs. "Tyoma, this game can be played without betting any money." 

"But that is not as fun," he pouts. 

The omega sighs. Maybe it was truly not a good idea to teach the children how to play cards. 

* * *

In the midst of flipping through accounting ledgers in Viktor's study, Yuuri finds a draft of a letter. There are smeared strikes and angry slashes all in Viktor's Russian cursive handwriting. Yuuri pushes his spectacles up his nose and begins to read. 

_Dearest cousin,_

_I know you dislike my husband and have behaved rudely in his and Mama's presence many years ago. I had written it off then as a leftover disdain from the war with Japan and believed that forcing an apology from you to my husband will do more harm than good for our unstable relationship with Japan._

_But mistreating my son is a line you should have not crossed at all. You have greatly insulted me and showed an appalling amount of disrespect. The next time you meet my son, I expect an apology to him and for you to never darken your shadow over him or any of my other children again. You should also apologize to my husband for your behavior this year and your behavior ten years ago. You're extremely lucky that my zolotse is a forgiving and kind man._

_Viktor Alexandrovich_

Yuuri notes the date. It had been written a few days ago, and he believes it is likely his husband has sent out a finalized draft of this letter. He looks forward to seeing whether Boris Vladimirovich does indeed apologize to him and the children the next time, if ever, they meet.

* * *

A few days before the Christmas party, the newspapers are busied with telling all of Russia of Grigori Rasputin's murder. There were reports even before the body was found, but with the body discovered on December 19, the voices of gossip have reached a heightened frenzy. The body of the holy man has been disposed of in Little Nevka, a stream, and later discovered by a policeman. There is no question of who is guilty. 

Dmitri Pavlovich, Viktor’s cousin, has been placed under house arrest. Felix Felixovich, who is Xenia’s son-in-law, tried to escape to Crimea, only to be arrested at a train station. Yuuri reads every single article, drinking in every bit of information about the murder. The Tsarina must be distraught, he muses, while raising a brow at the seemingly supernatural strength and resilience Rasputin supposedly possessed right before he was murdered. As for Dmitri Pavlovich and Felix Felixovich, they’re considered Russian heroes for killing the boogeyman, even if the Tsarina and her family surely wouldn’t agree. 

One newspaper article seems to be less inclined to publish figurative rubbish, and Yuuri wonders which one of the conspirators have talked to the papers for them to write this story. Fingers are pointed straight at a few men, and every detail paints a colorful picture. Rasputin was lured to Felix Felixovich’s home through an invitation. Felix Felixovich and Rasputin drank together for hours. Then he shot Rasputin in the stomach. The bullet did not kill him. Rasputin managed to escape the room and was then shot again in the back. A third bullet entered his forehead. Then the murderers and conspirators took the body to the stream and dropped it from the bridge. 

Yuuri wonders if killing Rasputin is akin to treason. In the Tsarina's eyes, it certainly is. Yuuri suspects that Rasputin, as Alexei's healer, previously held the most important role of protecting the heir from the grave dangers of his illness. Perhaps with Rasputin's death, the state of the Russian monarchy would stabilize and find a footing at last. Or so it is what some people claim, laying the country's woes at the holy man's feet. 

The omega thinks differently. It's the Tsarina and, to some extent, the Tsar at fault. They brought Rasputin and their troubles upon themselves. 

A knock at the door shakes Yuuri out of his thoughts. He turns his attention to Phichit and asks, "What is it?" 

"We're short on some supplies for the party." 

"Short on what, exactly? Food?" 

"No, it's not food. Tablecloths, for one." 

He thinks quickly. "Are you trying to keep them all the same color?" 

"Well, I am reusing them from the previous years, but some of them are utterly ruined. Water damage, rips. Moths have taken a large bite out of one, and I don't know what you want me to use." 

"Cut the parts that are still good and sew them together," the omega says. He straightens and raises a brow. "What is going on? It's not like you to ask me questions about the small details." 

“I went to a shop for some candles, and I saw a few soldiers with rifles loitering across the street,” Phichit answers after a moment. “I was in the store for a few hours, and when I came out, they were still there. Smoking, drinking. The same soldiers.” 

“And this worries you, because. . .?” Yuuri prompts. 

“I believe they’re deserters. With guns they’ve obtained from their military service. With how low morale is, it’s a cause for concern. Perhaps even cause for alarm. We know how many soldiers have deserted the army every month." 

Phichit is correct. Every month, the number of deserters tally over tens of thousands. The Russian military forces have been bleeding recruits since the start of the war. Many soldiers, without a doubt, are disgruntled and displeased with the way the war is going.

“Never before have the people been this armed and this unhappy in Russia. There is trouble brewing on the horizon,” the assistant pauses, “and I plan to send a telegram to Morooka, asking if he believes we should increase the number of guards and take any other necessary precautions.” 

Yuuri nods in agreement. "Then do." 

* * *

Christmas this year is a quiet affair compared to last year. The palace's staff have overall invited fewer members of their family for the Christmas party, their sons or husbands busy playing their parts in the Russian military forces. Viktor stands tall, dressed simply in his sharp military uniform, as if he's expected to be called back into battle at any moment. Yuuri, though he can appreciate how well the uniform looks on his husband, hates Viktor wearing it. He should be wearing an evening suit and laughing with a glass of champagne in his hands.

The omega hates the reminder that there's an invisible clock hanging over Viktor's head, counting down to the time the alpha inevitably returns to the war front. He'll be left wondering every waking moment of what Viktor is doing miles upon miles away. 

After dinner, their children play with the other children, Vicchan and Makkachin obediently watching them run circles around the two poodles. Yuuri doesn't know who let the dogs into the ballroom, but he is not going to make a fuss about it as long as no one complains. 

It's while he holds a light conversation with the mayor that he feels a touch at his elbow. 

"Sorry, may I borrow my husband?" 

"Not a problem, sir," the mayor replies. "Have a wonderful Christmas." 

"You too," the couple says in unison. 

"You've gotten better at this," Viktor muses a moment later, walking arm-in-arm with the omega. "It's impressive how you handled the mayor, zolotse." 

Hosting Christmas parties without the reinforcement of his husband helps. Sink or swim is the old adage, or so Yuuri has heard. He notices the silver-haired alpha leading him out of the ballroom. "Vitya, where are we going?" 

"You very well know where.” 

And Yuuri smiles at that. 

Viktor spots a mistletoe hanging from the doorway leading to the gardens. Reaching up, he plucks a white berry and places it into his pocket. Then he turns to the younger man. "For tradition's sake?" 

Yuuri doesn't need the silly reason of tradition to indulge his husband. With a light breath of laughter, he straightens and rises on the toes of his feet. He tugs at his husband's collar and pulls him into a long kiss underneath the mistletoe. 

Somewhere in the palace, a clock strikes ten. 

Viktor's wandering hands slip lower and lower until he is shamelessly cupping the omega's bottom. Reluctantly pulling himself away, he pants, "You have so many layers on." 

"Well, the weather is cold," he points out. 

A knowing smirk plays on the other man's lips, and he reeks of smug satisfaction, the scent of citrus heightening. "I know of a way to keep you warm without clothes." 

That remark sends Yuuri stifling his laugh. His husband is a terrible, absolutely ridiculous man. 

* * *

Morooka's response to Phichit's telegram is a small stack of papers grouped together in a folder. It is hand-delivered by a diplomat who has traveled all the way from the embassy in Petrograd to ensure that no one can intercept the report. There is the date and the insignia of Japan's diplomatic service on the first page with a red stamp reading **Confidential** in Japanese. The second page bears Morooka's summary and his advice. 

_Even with Grigori Rasputin's death, unrest continues and the lack of confidence in the Tsarist government is unabated. For now, the people remain unsatisfied and hungry, especially in Petrograd, Moscow, and its surrounding areas. There is a correlation evident in which the areas served by His Highness' education program are more stable than those without._

_I've seen some reports of potential trouble in Kiev but do not feel it is of high priority._

_As long as the military remains under the control of the Tsarist government, there is little cause for concern. However, with an average desertion rate of approximately 30 thousand soldiers per month with a low rate of recovering the Russian military's weapons, preparations for the worst must be made. I've laid the groundwork on my end and drawn up potential travel plans. Furthermore, I've notified the civil government of Japan of the growing unrest and potential danger. It is possible that every diplomat will be recalled to Manchuria and then to Japan for their safety._

_My recommendation is to increase security and to be prepared to receive additional guards in mid-January. Do not travel beyond what is necessary._

The next pages are centered around the unrest in Petrograd. Morooka lists politicians in the Duma he has under watch, noting their particular stances and opinions regarding the war. He also brings up the topic of revolutionary groups, underlining the names of those that had been involved in the 1905 Russian Revolution. All of the leaders of the revolutionary groups are in exile or in prison thanks to the efforts of the Okhrana. 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow at this. So it seems the Okhrana can do its job, after all. He flips to the next page where Morooka's associates have written up a summary of inner politics in the Tsarist government. All of them are convinced that something needs to be done in order to appease the general population, yet the Tsar remains adamant that his way is the correct way, refusing to budge on his stances even as food prices soar. 

And at the very back of the report is a red envelope sealed with wax. There is nothing written on the face of the envelope, but Yuuri feels his nerves tensing. He unfolds the letter within, his eyes adjusting to the Japanese calligraphy. The message is simple. 

_Yuuri,_

_Your grandmother, mother, and I will be pleased to see you if you, Vicchan, and your children choose to visit Tokyo for a celebration of your grandmother's seventy-second birthday. She insists upon a large party with many diplomats and esteemed military officers, and demands your children's attendance. You must send your reply by the end of the month. The celebration will be hosted on March 22, and she demands you to not be late._

_Dad_

The omega reads through the letter again. It is unlike his grandmother to throw a large party in her own honor. It is unlike her to celebrate her own birthday. What is like her is that she has an underlying motive to call Yuuri and his family back to Japan. 

His grandmother, who has been watching the state of affairs in Russia closely for years, is telling him to return home. 

The omega has to heed her message. She has decades of experience and better foresight than anyone else he knows. 

* * *

The passing into the new year is marked with observations and no celebrations. The first month of 1917 sees Viktor leaving for Gatchina instead of the front. Yuuri doesn't know whether to be relieved or worried. He doesn't know the full details of Viktor's orders, but the alpha strides up the stairs, taking two at a time until he stands in front of Yuuri and away from the idle automobile waiting in the courtyard. 

"I'll be back soon," he promises. 

"I told you about the invitation to my grandmother's birthday party," the omega starts. 

"You should accept it," Viktor instantly says. "Take the children and go visit your grandmother." His eyes briefly note the footmen carrying his luggage into the waiting automobile. 

"But what about you? You're invited too." 

The alpha winces. "I know I am, but it would be in poor taste to accept an invitation to a celebration in Japan when I'm needed at the front." 

"And it's good taste for me to accept and go to Japan with the children and without you?" Yuuri counters. 

"Zolotse," Viktor pauses, his silver fringe falling upon his forehead. He clasps Yuuri's hands in his, squeezing briefly. "It is alright to go without me. I would feel more comfortable if you're all in Japan rather than Russia at this moment. Second of all, your grandmother is aging and it is dishonorable to not spend time with her at her request. And third, I think it would do the children some good if they are away from Russia and see new sights. They might not be on the battlefields or fighting, but they can see the stress weighing down on everyone. At least in Japan, they will have a temporary breath of relief." He brings Yuuri's hands up to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles. 

He can't find a single fault in his husband's arguments, but he says, "I don't want to leave you behind." 

"Your Highness," discreetly coughs one of the footmen. He is ignored. 

"Zolotse, you're not." A pause. "Don't worry about it. I will apply for leave, and if I get it, I will come to Japan and stay for a few days." 

"Promise?" 

"I promise. I will send a telegram." He kisses Yuuri's other hand and makes his way down the stairs. "Yes, you've put everything in?" 

"Yes, sir," the footman confirms. 

"Thank you," Viktor replies, strolling into the driver's seat and then driving down the path to the gates with three automobiles following him. 

Yuuri watches him go, fading away around the corner. Then he turns around and heads back inside the palace. Finding the nearest telephone, he dials the number to Phichit's study. The omega doesn't have to wait very long. 

"Phichit Chulanont, His Highness' head secretary." 

"Phichit," he starts, cutting out the usual pleasantries. "Begin packing for Japan." 

* * *

"You are going to return to Japan in a month?" Tyotya Maria asks, watching Yuuri pour tea for both of them. 

"That is the plan. My grandmother is getting old, and I would rather see her at least one more time. I would also like for the children to have seen her, so that they can remember what she is like," the omega says smoothly, setting down the teapot and handing the small Japanese-styled teacup to his mother-in-law. "Has Vitya known his grandfathers?" 

"My father, yes. His paternal grandfather, not as well, unfortunately." Tyotya Maria brings the cup to her nose and inhales the scent of tea. 

Yuuri downs his cup, once sufficiently cooled. "It is a shame how we haven't spent much time together even while living at the same residence." 

"It is a large palace." 

"Yes," he agrees, carefully noting the impressive barrier of ice between the two of them. "In addition, there are new patients from the front arriving every single day. It is easy to keep busy." Yuuri has been occasionally inspecting the medical wings and the temporary field set outside. He abhors how he never seems to see a face twice when it comes to patients. 

"What else is there to do but to keep busy?" 

"Indeed." Yuuri inquires politely, "When I go to Japan, will you still be staying here or have you made plans to travel as well?" 

"I would like to stay," she pauses, "if you don't mind." 

"I don't mind," he confirms, silently making a note to himself to ensure that a number of his trusted staff remain behind in Kiev. He has always planned to, especially with the number of patients housed by the palace and its grounds, but Tyotya Maria can access various parts of the palace without being questioned and stopped. 

The omega is still selecting the staff he plans to bring along to Japan. Ms. Baranovskaya is on the list as well as Yuuko. Yuuko plans to bring the triplets, and wherever Yuuko goes, the omega is certain that Takeshi will follow. 

There is not much to talk about with Tyotya Maria anymore. Years ago, they would've freely discussed a wide range of topics from Russian and international politics to the last ballet show they've watched together to the weather. Today, they sit nearly amicably as they drink tea and wait for the children to be done with their lessons. 

* * *

After spending the morning listening to the constant droning of the priest, who asks for many blessings for Russia and its armies, Yuuri inspects the medical wings and the field hospital. This time, the children are all present, smiling and laughing at the occasional joke or trick the soldiers play for them. Their infectious mood seems to help the soldiers, and they seem to be a little more at ease than when Yuuri visits without the children by his side. 

A group of soldiers circle a round table, playing cards and betting chips. Yuuri notices Artyom approaching the table curiously, but before he can call his son back, he is stopped by a voice. 

"Your Highness, we couldn't obtain an appointment with you, but my employer wishes to speak with you anyway," says a frail woman, swaying in her very stance. Wisps of blonde pale hair escape from her shawl. 

"And your employer is?" Yuuri prompts. 

"He is waiting for you by the doctor's quarters," she informs, inclining her head. She glances pointedly at their potential audience, the mess of soldiers chattering with the children. "He is not supposed to be here, and we hope you keep his attendance quiet." 

The strange tone piques his curiosity, and he raises his hand at the woman. "Excuse me. I want to confirm that you've tried to make an appointment with my assistant. Safety reasons." 

She nods weakly. "He will wait." 

A quick telephone call to Phichit confirms that General Brusilov has indeed attempted to make an appointment with the omega. He already has his suspicions of what the general will bring up, letting the door shut in the head doctor's private quarters. "General," he says, signaling his presence. 

The general straightens in his seat. He's an old man with a distinctive pale mustache, carefully curled and shaped just so. "Your Highness," he greets, performing a perfunctory bow. "I'm grateful that you've taken the time to see me." 

"It is the least I can do," the omega responds smoothly. He knows this is Viktor's superior, and he must remain polite or else the man may be convinced to send Viktor into the jaws of the Germans. "You are a busy man, after all." 

"I was hoping that you can convince your husband to persuade the Tsar to agree to concessions. The unrest is becoming increasingly disturbing, and I am worried for the stability of Russia." 

"Vitya says you've previously attempted to convince him." Yuuri knows all about it, and he’s surprised that the general has come to him, thinking the omega can make Viktor do anything in this regard. 

"He told me that his brother could not be persuaded. I doubt Viktor Alexandrovich has sent more than a single letter to his brother on this matter. If he knows what is good for us and truly wants to change his brother’s mind, he will do everything in his power to do so. I've read your and your husband's open letter regarding the Lena Massacre. If your husband was truly trying, he would run an open letter campaign to pressure the Tsar." 

"General," Yuuri pauses with a sigh. "I've tried before. He believes it's out of his hands. I apologize for wasting your time." 

The general shakes his head, opening and closing his mouth as if deciding whether to speak more. He moves towards the door. He places his hand on the doorknob and then pauses, struck by hesitation. "Your Highness, I prefer stability and order for Russia. You may have not been present for the rebellion in 1905, but I was." He turns slightly towards Yuuri, his expression stoic. "Revolutions are never built in a single day. The French Revolution that overthrew the monarchy was built on the backs of bloody smaller riots and protests. Do nothing, and you will see greater turnout that may tip the scales one day." 

With that, he straightens his winter coat and lifts his hat in a salute to the omega. Message delivered, he leaves the room. 

Yuuri palms the side of his face. If there was a way to get the Tsar to abdicate in favor of Viktor, the omega would have already done so. But there isn't. 

* * *

Dressed in silk pajamas, the omega straightens the curtains. The uppermost drape doesn't seem to completely hide the window. He hears the children chattering behind him, and he only pays partial attention, still thinking about today's news and the daily update of the military's death toll. He nearly laughs in celebration when the curtain is finally completely pulled and then turns his attention to the overstuffed bookshelf, perusing the wide variety of novels. 

"Look at it move," Artyom says, holding a sealed glass container with a single slug on top of a collection of leaves snipped from the garden. "Have you seen anything like this before?" 

"It is gross," Ekaterina tells him, curled underneath the blankets in the bottom half of Anton's bed. "You should toss it back into the garden. It’s where it belongs." 

Yuuri personally doesn't mind it being inside the palace as long as no one touches it and it remains inside its glassy prison. However, he does dislike how Artyom's new curiosity latches onto a very small bug the omega can easily squash under his foot. The boy should be paying more attention to his language and history lessons, but Yuuri is mildly afraid of Governess Baranovskaya's murderously chilly gaze. 

"I'm not tossing it back into the garden." 

"If you don't, Makkachin is probably going to eat it." She glances pointedly down to the large ball of fur cheerfully thumping her tail against the rug. 

Makkachin looks innocent. She seems hardly capable of eating a single slug. 

"Can we get another dog, Otou-san?" Anton inquires, a tone of pleading in his words. 

"Well, why don't you write to your father and ask about whether or not we can get a new dog?" Yuuri inquires, knowing the answer is a clear yes. "You can tell him what color and size you would like, Antosha." 

"How about a blue dog?" He claps his hands together. "A small blue dog." 

The omega adjusts the positioning of a few books, straightening them on the shelves. "I believe the only dog that has the color resembling blue is the Great Dane, but they are always very large." 

"How large?" 

"Bigger than Makkachin." 

"Oh." Returning to thought, the boy plants his fist against his chin. "How about a small dog? A coat of gold?" 

"There are many dog breeds like that," Yuuri tells him, wincing as he tries to shove a book into standing amongst its siblings. There is not quite enough room without tearing the covers off, and the children simply toss the books onto the shelves without caring how they're placed. "You should talk about that in your next letter to your father. Now," he pauses, trading the book he has in his hands for a smaller one that fits perfectly in the gap, "what shall we read today?" 

_“The Secret Garden_ by Frances Hodgson Burnett,” answers Anton quickly, smiling. “Can we finish the next chapter?” 

“If your siblings agree,” he responds. He pulls the book from the shelf and notes, “We did read it yesterday, and Katyusha or Tyoma might want to hear something else.” He raises an eyebrow at his eldest. “Well, what would you like for me to read aloud tonight?” 

_“Thick Black Theory_ by Li Zongwu,” she says after a moment.

“You don’t want to finish _Rural Denmark?_ We are almost done with the book,” the omega points out. Yuuri personally finds it interesting, the author having traveled and toured the rural areas of Denmark. Tyotya Maria, who has sat in for some of the chapters, have found some observations made by the author to be unique and rather insightful. 

She shakes her head. “I saw Tyoma falling asleep three words in, and Antosha was picking at loose threads. And I’m getting bored of it.” 

Yuuri can’t fault that logic. It’s not a book for everyone. “Tyoma, what about you?” 

_“Calculus Made Easy,”_ answers Artyom. “Can we all do some practice problems?” 

The omega glances to the other children, who bear equally disgusted expressions on their faces. He hides his laughter, for none of the children will take it well. “I believe it’s best that you take it to Governess Baranovskaya. I don’t believe Katyusha or Antosha know how to do any of the practice problems.” He himself didn’t learn calculus until he was in his early teen years, but Artyom finds the mathematical problems Governess Baranovskaya’s teaching assistants give him too easy, claiming he can do them in his sleep. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. 

Governess Baranovskaya has been consistently petitioning him to hire professors from the local universities in an effort to satisfy Artyom’s curiosity, and Yuuri has half a mind to do it, if only to get the governess off his back. He knows Viktor will absolutely do it, but he dislikes the thought of it, of his son gaining knowledge in mathematics rather than history and politics. Maybe his son will grow bored of it, like how Yuuri did when he breezed his way through algebra and trigonometry, only to be stopped short at the sight of calculus. Then he will return to his studies, the same ones he has given to Ekaterina to take. 

“Is there anything else you would like me to read, Tyoma?” 

_“Principia?”_

Yuuri doesn’t react to the identical scrunches of his other children’s faces. “We haven’t read that in a while.” He pulls two books from the shelf and places them on the nightstand between Artyom and Anton’s beds. “Alright, we haven’t read any of Katyusha’s choices in two weeks and Tyoma’s choices in a week. Because it is a Saturday, I’m going to have Antosha decide whose book should be read.” 

“But not _The Secret Garden?”_

“No.”

“Katya’s then. Fair’s fair,” he decides. 

“Will that be alright, Tyoma?” 

“It is,” he confirms. 

_Thick Black Theory_ is one of the many books Phichit’s assistants have found. Originally in Mandarin and then translated to Japanese, the book was published after the Xinhai Revolution in China that ended the last Chinese dynasty. The author, Li Zongwu, was supposed to publish three articles in the newspapers, but they quickly grew unpopular in China and the idea was canceled. It details observations about China’s upper society, about needing thick skin and a black heart to gain and hold power. Yuuri, who has already read it, has found it to be mildly similar to Machiavelli’s work. 

But while the words and ideas of the work are interesting, the history behind the work sends a cold chill down the omega’s spine. Specifically, the Xinhai Revolution that overthrew the Chinese monarchy and forced the abdication of China's last Emperor. To this day, the country has been left in chaos with no hopes for a centralized government or a complete republic. Yuuri remembers reading about in the papers, and he knows Japan is eager to see the country remain destitute and divided, for they can gain a larger foothold on the continent. He doesn't know the full details, but plans for expansion have been decades in the making, constantly perfected by the military. 

It brings Russia to mind. The Xinhai Revolution started due to a severe dissatisfaction in the people, centering around the Chinese railways. The fallen monarchy wished to nationalize them and bring in the influence of foreign banks. That decision, among many other grievances, brought about widespread uprisings and instability. Russia faces a situation similar enough to leave the omega vaguely uncomfortable. The Tsar has had ten years since the 1905 Revolution to do something and had nothing but a muzzled Duma to show for it, having quietly regained most of his lost power and control. The average people of Petrograd haven't seen much improvement in their lives, constantly informed by the newspapers about Rasputin, the corrupted natures of the Tsar and Tsarina, and the people who have taken to defrauding the Tsarist government. 

They already have people angry in the streets. It is not yet enough to put the city of Petrograd and Moscow into a standstill, but it is enough to be concerned about. 

Yuuri glances over to the grandfather clock and then reaches to the corner of the page, folding the paper to mark the spot. "And we are done for tonight. Let's head to bed now." 

"Phew," Artyom murmurs, ducking underneath his covers. "Otou-san, when are we leaving for Japan?" 

"I think the eighteenth of February. Sometime in the morning. Pack what you need, and don't forget to pack all of your schoolbooks. Governess Baranovskaya is coming with us along with three of her assistants. They haven't decided which ones," the omega informs, taking a mental note to check on Anton's books. He can trust Ekaterina and Artyom to be dutiful about their schooling, but his youngest is frankly quite lazy about learning, preferring to skate and read books and newspapers about figure skating. 

"How long are we going to be there?" Ekaterina asks, still in Anton's bed. 

"I think we will be there for three weeks. Your father will only be there for a few days if he can make it." 

"What about a skating rink? Does Japan have one?" 

The omega thinks about it. Didn't Mari mention a skating rink in a letter last year or so? "I believe they have one in Tokyo, but we are only staying there for a week. We will be staying in Hasetsu for two, but they don't have a skating rink." 

"Oh." The boy's shoulders slump. "Then can we stay in Tokyo longer?"

Yuuri hates the idea of crushing the hope the boy carries in his eyes. He merely says, "If your father is late in arriving in Japan, we may stay a few more days in Tokyo. He would love to see your grandparents." 

Anton looks conflicted. "He is not taking the train with us?" 

"Well, if he can get time off, we hope that we will meet up with him in Petrograd and then take the Trans-Siberian railway to the Pacific. Sounds good?" 

"It does sound good," Ekaterina interjects, rolling out of her younger brother's bed. She slips her feet into her slippers and yawns, covering her mouth with a hand. Her silver hair is tangled in a mimicry of a bird's nest. "What time is it now?" 

Yuuri glances over to the grandfather clock, adjusting his spectacles. "Oh, it is almost nine thirty now. You should all go to sleep. You have lessons at seven in the morning." He sets the book down onto the nightstand and fluffs Artyom's pillow. He kisses his oldest son at the temple. "Good night, Tyoma." 

"Night." He curls into a ball underneath his covers. 

Then the omega approaches Anton's bed side. He straightens the crooked sheets and flattens the layers over the boy's feet. He presses a kiss on his youngest child's cheek and whispers, "Good night, Antosha." 

"Night," he mumbles back. 

"Come on, Katyusha." He waits until she is out of the room to flick the lights off. Then he quietly closes the door and escorts his eldest child to her room a few doors down, nodding politely to the Japanese guard standing still an arm's reach away. Ever since the palace has converted many sections into a temporary hospital, Yuuri has taken to always escorting Ekaterina and the children to bed. Though all of the soldiers have shown kindness to his face, he is wary of what thoughts of perversion may lurk behind their eyes. 

While Ekaterina doesn't know his true motivation for wanting to escort her to her bedroom at night, the girl does seem to appreciate his presence and has taken to inquiring after Yuuri's opinion on news and other such matters.

"Otou-san, will Papa be able to leave for Japan?" 

Yuuri shakes his head, drawing up the image of a group of soldiers forcing Viktor to stay. It is a comical thought, when Viktor hardly needs any encouragement to stay with his men. If the war goes badly enough, he does think that his husband will not be able to take leave for Japan. Still, he remains optimistic. "I think he will be. He loves the thought of having a nice vacation." He pats the girl's shoulder and asks, "Are you excited for our trip?" 

She shrugs halfheartedly, pushing the door open. "I think it will be nice to have a change of scenery."


End file.
